Eye of the Storm
by siriuslyholly
Summary: When a threat upon the wizarding world arises once again, how will Hermione cope when she is forced to work together with who she once believed to be the enemy? (Post-Hogwarts fic set in 2003)
1. chapter one

"We have another order coming in at three o'clock today, sir," a voice said.

"Mmm."

"Um, Mr. Malfoy, sir?"

Draco Malfoy lifted his head from his hands and stared wearily at his nervous personal assistant who was holding a large green folder filled to the brim with assorted parchments.

"Sorry, uh… what was your name again?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.

"Emma Dobbs, sir," the witch said, crestfallen.

"Yes, that was it. Anything else for me, Miss Dobbs?"

"Yes, sir, I thought you might appreciate a coffee, sir," Emma breathed. She smiled, proffering Draco the coffee in her left hand.

"Thank you, Emma." Draco replied, taking the cup gratefully and taking a sip. "You can have your lunch hour now."

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, sir, I had my lunch two hours ago," Emma said, biting her lip.

"What? What time is it?" Draco asked, widening his eyes and setting down his coffee. It was strong, black and sugarless, just how he liked it.

"Two-thirty, sir," Emma replied, awkwardly taking a piece of parchment from the front of her folder and placing it on Draco's desk. "I just need you to sign this, sir."

"Fine, what am I signing?" Draco replied tiredly, still dazed from his nap. He took a quill from his top drawer and dipped it in the silver Slytherin inkpot on his desk.

"It's just a form for the pen order sir, to consent that you placed it."

"But I don't remember placing that order." Draco frowned. Had he really been asleep for three hours?

"Well, sir," Emma began sheepishly, "I ordered it for you. You were, er, otherwise engaged. It's coming through at three."

"I see. Well, thank you, Emma. That is all." Draco waved his hand in dismissal as he took his second sip of coffee. His immediate alertness drove him to wonder whether Emma had slipped a dose of Wake-Me-Up Potion inside the beverage.

Meanwhile, Emma's disappointment went unnoticed by her boss, who looked as if he'd been slapped in the face a few times. Smirking at her inner-Slytherin choice of spiking his coffee, Emma turned on her heels and headed towards the door of the office.

"Emma?" Draco called out as she reached for the door handle, and she turned around, her breath bated. "You don't need to call me 'sir'," he quipped, raising his eyebrows in amusement as he watched Emma smile politely and leave the office, silently closing the door behind her.

As soon as Emma was out of sight, she groaned inwardly and raised her hands to her head. _When will you notice me? _

She'd had feelings for her boss since her time at Hogwarts, when she was at the tender age of twelve and he was fifteen. The dark times in his adolescence had only made her want him more.

She had managed to get over him when she went back to Hogwarts after the war, dating a string of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws until she left after a year without completing her N.E.W.T.s. When she saw the job for personal assistant to the infamous Draco Malfoy, she'd leapt at the chance, even if it meant being his slave. He was the only reason she'd taken the stupid job. She wanted to be a personal assistant as much as she wanted to work for Malfoy Incorporated. She had come up with a Plan of Seduction for Draco, complete with strategies, sexy outfits and accidental bumps. Now she'd been there for six months, and he didn't even know her name.

The old assistant, Daphne Greengrass, had advised her to seek out employment elsewhere, and Emma was starting to think she was right. She laughed hysterically as she sat down behind her messy desk placed outside Draco's office. How stupid could she get? She was making good money and in a position many women her age (and older) could only dream of: working for the notoriously handsome Draco Malfoy. Calming herself, she breathed out with a '_huh'_ and got on with sorting the paperwork.

On the other side of the door, Draco rubbed his temples and exhaled slowly. No doubt he'd have to stay late tonight to catch up on the three hours he'd missed. It was a vicious circle – he would stay late to catch up on work, then the next day he'd fall asleep from the exhaustion of staying late the previous evening. Luckily, it was a Friday.

There was also the problem of his personal assistant. _What was her name?_ Draco thought. _Emily? Ella? Emma. That was it_. It was obvious she had feelings for him. He hoped it wouldn't turn obsessive like his previous personal assistant, Daphne. He had hired her when he had been dating Astoria: as a favour to his now ex-girlfriend, he had employed her sister, believing her to be a useful addition to the company. However, eighteen months after he and Astoria had split up, he had found Daphne lying provocatively on his desk in red lingerie, confessing her love for him. He had fired her on the spot.

He hated working behind a desk. He was almost thankful that his father hadn't passed over his role of chairman of the entire company to Draco when he was sent to Azkaban for ten years after the war. Instead, he was made head of 'Muggle to Magic', a small company that took Muggle products and converted them into magical objects to sell to the everyday witch or wizard. So far, the company had made pens with unlimited ink, self-heating kettles, a magical storage device and some other small gadgets. There were only four people in the offices – Draco, Emma, Kevin Whitby, the researcher, and Malcolm Baddock, the charmer. It was Malcolm's job to actually bewitch the Muggle objects into working wizarding items. They were thoroughly understaffed, which meant Kevin helped Malcolm cast the spells on the gadgets instead of creating new product ideas. This meant Muggle to Magic was suffering in sales and hadn't come up with a new idea for weeks. Of course, even five years after the war, many people were reluctant to buy anything associated with Muggles, but Draco refused to see his business closed and carried on regardless. He had learnt that blood superiority was a stupid idea years ago and had come to understand and even appreciate the Muggle way of life, which, Draco realised, was his father's reason for making him head of this particular aspect of Malfoy Incorporated. This meant he could appear supportive of Muggles, Muggle-borns and everyone else and get on with his life without suspicion of having any more Death Eater values. What Lucius Malfoy didn't count on was Draco actually _being_ supportive of them.

After a few minutes of silence, Emma popped her head around the door and smiled at Draco.

"The pen order is here early. Do you want me to let them through to your office?" she asked.

"Yes, that would be great, thanks," he answered, standing up and knocking the dregs of his coffee over in the process. "Fuck. _Scourgify_."

With the stains on his paperwork and trousers vanished, he called for Emma to come back to his office. Almost at once, his assistant was peering around the door again.

"Tell Malcolm and Kevin I've got a new delivery for them to play with," he ordered happily.

"Yes, sir – I mean, Mr. Malfoy," Emma replied, smiling stiffly.

"Thank you," Draco said, straightening out his suit. A couple of seconds later, there was a large bang and a dishevelled deliveryman arrived in the fireplace, accompanied by a large cardboard box.

"Hi, mate," the man said. "If you could sign here for me, thanks."

Draco complied obediently, noting the use of one of his unlimited ink pens.

"Can't stay; I have to deliver a large selection of books to Flourish and Blotts."

"Yeah, I understand. I'll see you soon, Goyle." Draco grinned, clapped him on the back and gestured for him to leave the box on the floor.

Gregory Goyle had turned his life around for the better after the war. After his father was killed, he had walked away from the fight, and a few months later he was employed by the famous delivery company 'Owlman,' coincidently owned by Malfoy Incorporated. The head of Owlman was now Blaise Zabini, Draco's best friend, who took over when Augustus Owlman died from old age a year ago.

Draco watched as Goyle stepped back into the flames and raised his hand in a wave as Greg said "Owlman delivery room" clearly, dropping a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. The green flames subsided, leaving Draco with the box of pens and a pile of soot on the floor. Draco sighed. It was going to be a long day.

"Are you dating anyone yet?" Narcissa Malfoy asked sharply after giving her son a stiff hug. She took his black cloak and gave it to the house-elf standing beside her.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mother, thank you for asking," Draco mumbled, dusting himself down to rid his trousers of soot.

"Sorry, Draco, dear. It's just… you've been single for so long. You're not getting any younger, you know," Narcissa said airily. She was the same height as her son and looked straight in his eyes, her own eyes narrowing as she inspected his face.

"You look exhausted, Draco," she told him worriedly. "You work too hard, dear. What time did you get home last night?"

Draco stared coldly at his mother for a few seconds.

"Not late enough," he replied coolly. He walked past her, out of the travelling room, towards one of the three sitting rooms at the Manor. His mother had decorated again, this time choosing a sickening yellow for the hallway. She had obviously taken Draco's advice to 'brighten things up' a bit too literally.

Narcissa followed her only son into the room, sighing exasperatedly.

"Why don't you just sell off the business and make yourself in charge of something else?" she suggested timidly.

"No," Draco replied bluntly, pouring himself a glass of firewhisky that he found in a glass cabinet. He took a sip, enjoying the burn that travelled down his throat and into his stomach.

"Draco, it's not even lunchtime. Should you really be drinking?" Narcissa asked at the doorway, one hand on her hip.

"Mother, I'm an adult, in case you haven't realised." Draco furrowed his brow as he sat down awkwardly onto a chaise longue.

Narcissa sighed again. "Gatsby!" she called. A house-elf wearing a blue toga appeared with a teapot, cup, saucer and milk on a silver tray.

"Your tea, Mistress." Gatsby said, quickly glancing at Draco who had decided to rest his feet on the expensive coffee table.

"You've forgotten the sugar, Gatsby." Narcissa told the cowering house-elf, taking the tray and pouring herself a cup of tea into the delicate blue china cup.

"Sorry, Mistress, Gatsby will fetch it right away." Gatsby disappeared and reappeared moments later with a bowl of white sugar cubes and a small spoon. "Here you are, Mistress. Sorry for the wait, Mistress."

Narcissa took the sugar bowl and dismissed the elf with a small wave of her hand.

"So, Draco," she started, stirring two sugars into her tea and taking a sip, "how did your date with that lovely blonde girl go?"

"Mandy?" Draco frowned as he remembered his antics of the previous Friday. "She was… boring. Pretty, but she lived up to the expectations of her hair colour."

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Mandy is from a respectable wizarding family. Her mother, Donna, is a good friend of mine and –"

"Respectable wizarding family? Does that mean pure-blood?" Draco interrupted.

"No. Well, yes, but that's not what I meant. She has a high social status in the wizarding community and –"

"It doesn't change the fact that she was as thick as two short planks," Draco interrupted again. "Don't you know anyone who knows the difference between China and _Japan_?"

"Don't be rude, Draco. Go on, tell me what else is new with you."

Two hours and three glasses of firewhisky later, Draco made his excuses and Flooed back home to his flat in South London. He had purchased the small flat on his twenty-first birthday as a present to himself. He could have afforded a much bigger property, but since all he did was sleep, eat and bring the occasional girl there, he didn't see the need for a larger place. It was stylish but not uncomfortable, and Draco absolutely loved it. His mother had wanted him to move into one of their properties in France, but he needed to be near his office. Plus, he wanted to do something on his own without his mother's input.

Draco checked the clock as he removed his cloak and hung it on a hook beside the fireplace. One-thirty. Enough time for a nap before he had to get ready for a night out with Blaise. Setting an alarm on his wand for five forty-five, Draco settled himself onto his leather sofa, kicking off his shoes and fluffing up the cushions. He was asleep within seconds.


	2. chapter two

Hermione Granger pulled herself closer under her desk and smoothed out her skirt, glancing at the clock as she did so. She had been working at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office for three months already, and she had to admit it wasn't living up to her expectations. Hermione had gone from career to career after Hogwarts. After the clean-up efforts that restored the school and wizarding communities to their former glory, Hermione had been asked to start work for the Ministry.

She started off naming known (and living) Death Eaters and sympathisers of Voldemort, along with Harry, Ron and other members of the Order that had survived. She'd spoken at the memorial that remembered those who had fallen, speaking of friends and strangers who had died in the war for the light. She had given evidence and statements in most of the Death Eaters' trials and given an exclusive interview for every wizarding magazine and newspaper known to wizarding kind. Finally, after three months, Hermione had been able to relax. She had gone back to Hogwarts on September the first for an extra year to complete her N.E.W.T.s, and the students had welcomed her as a hero. She had hated every moment of it. She was relieved when the end of June came around and she could go home to her parents whom she had found in Australia.

Almost straight away, she was offered a job in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Office, where she worked tirelessly on S.P.E.W until she had obtained the rights to wages, annual leave and sick pay for every house-elf. After two years and the fulfilment of that particular dream, she moved on to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which entailed twenty-one months of catching criminals (and occasional stray Voldemort supporters) and shipping them off to Azkaban. Hermione had always felt empty with this job, so when she heard from Arthur Weasley, the Undersecretary to the Minister, that the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office was retiring, she had jumped at the chance of taking over. Technically, she was over qualified for the job, but she was willing to try anything to achieve job satisfaction again.

After the war, Arthur had been offered a well-respected (and well-paid) job at the Auror Office but had declined, preferring to settle down to his old job at the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. That was, until Kingsley Shacklebolt had become the permanent Minister of Magic.

Hermione had been at the office for three months, but she wasn't feeling as fulfilled as she would like to be.

"Granger?" a bored voice said.

"Just a minute, please," Hermione groaned.

"Granger, you have a visitor. He said it was… important."

Hermione snapped back to reality and looked at the interdepartmental assistant with incredulity.

"Who is it? No one of any _importance_ comes here."

"It's Mr. Weasley, Granger." The assistant smiled sarcastically and walked out of the small room, glaring at Justin Finch-Fletchley on her way out.

"I wonder what's wrong with Pansy today," Hermione pondered absent-mindedly.

"Parkinson's just an uptight bitch," Justin scoffed.

"Justin…" Hermione warned.

"Sorry. It's just odd working with someone who was basically the enemy a few years ago."

"She wasn't the enemy. Not all the Slytherins were evil. There were only a few –" Hermione stopped as a knock on the door told her that her visitor had arrived.

Hermione stood up and walked quickly to the source of the knocking. As she opened the door, a bundle of burgundy robes with carrot-coloured hair rushed in and grabbed her by the waist. Hermione was lifted off the floor into an enthusiastic embrace.

"Ronald! Put…Me…Down!" Hermione gasped.

Ron Weasley grinned as he settled his startled girlfriend down on the floor.

"What are you doing here, Ron?"

"We have a lunch date, remember?" Ron nudged his girlfriend's arm, still grinning widely.

_Was it Friday already?_ "Well, I'd love to, but I have a lot of work to be catching up with," Hermione lied, turning back to her desk.

"Oh, it's okay Hermione!" Justin piped up. "It's time to take your lunch hour anyway!"

"Yeah, Hermione, see?" Ron said happily.

"Yes, thank you, Justin." Hermione hissed through clenched teeth to her oblivious colleague. "Where do you want to go?"

"Well…" Ron frowned in deep thought. "There's a new café in Diagon Alley that I wanted to show you. But we can go to Hogsmeade if you really want –"

"Diagon Alley will be perfect," Hermione interrupted firmly. "Floo or Apparition?"

"Apparition."

Hermione reached for her coat, preferring Muggle attire over wizarding robes. She gave a small wave to Justin as she gripped Ron's arm and felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tight tube that went hand-in-hand with Side-Along Apparition.

They arrived at the Apparition point at the end of Diagon Alley, and Ron promptly grabbed her hand and took her to the left down a small street Hermione had never been down before. After another left turn and two right turns, Hermione spoke up.

"Ron, where are we actually going?"

"I told you, it's a new café." Ron slowed to a stop outside a quaint brick building with a white picket fence, dropping Hermione's hand.

"Ronald, this doesn't seem to be a café," Hermione huffed impatiently.

"That's because it's not." Ron grinned sheepishly. "It's a surprise, for your twenty-fourth birthday!"

"What is? And my birthday isn't for another month, Ronald!" Hermione crossed her arms across her chest, frowning as her companion reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver key on a red string.

"Think of it as an invitation. It's our new place if you want it to be." Ron's smiled widened in anticipation of Hermione's response.

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and she unfolded her arms. "You bought me a _house_?"

Ron's smile faltered. "Well, it's for us, both of us. We can move in together! Your flat is too small for two people, and I've saved up enough money to buy this place."

Hermione slowly took the key from Ron's outstretched hand.

"You bought me a house," she repeated. "Without consulting me first?"

Hermione was fuming. Her flat in Sussex was perfectly adequate for what she needed it. Plus, Ron had just _assumed_ she'd want to move in with him. He hadn't even discussed it with her.

"Don't you like it?" Ron asked pathetically.

"It's not that, Ron. I just… need some time. I'm sorry. I need to get back to work," Hermione whispered, her eyes filling with hot, angry tears. She thrust the key back into Ron's hand and half-ran back to the Apparition point, leaving a very confused and hurt-looking Ron standing silently in the street.

Hermione Apparated directly into her flat, breathing heavily. After regaining her composure, she took an unlimited-ink pen, one of her favourite inventions, and scrawled a quick note with a shaking hand.

_Justin,_

_ I've suddenly come down with a terrible sickness. I've taken some potion, but I think I need to take the afternoon off, just to be safe. Hannah Abbott will be in after lunch._

_Take care!_

_Hermione_

"Quinn!" she called. A large tawny owl screeched and flew in the open balcony door. "I have a letter for you. Can you take it to Justin at my office please?"

The owl blinked understandingly and held out her foot for Hermione to attach the letter to. Hermione watched the bird fly through the open window and into the clouds.

An hour later, Quinn returned with a reply. Hermione peeled herself off from the armchair and put down the book with which she had been trying to distract herself. To her surprise, Quinn had two envelopes in her grip. She opened the first one and scanned it quickly.

_Hermione,_

_ That's fine, try to get better soon! Ron came in here looking for you, so I told him you were ill. See you on Monday!_

_Justin_

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. She knew she'd overreacted with Ron. He had only been trying to be thoughtful. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and read the second letter.

_Hermione, _

_ I'm sorry for not talking to you first before buying the house. I'm mental, I know, and I can tell you think it's a bit too much. Why don't we talk about this later? If that's all right with you, I mean. I'll Floo to yours at seven. Write back._

_I love you._

_Ron_

Tears prickled Hermione's eyes again as she placed the letter on the table. She had been with Ron for five years, more or less. Shortly after she had taken the job at the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures office, Ron had gone travelling around the world with Harry to spread the news about Voldemort's defeat and to stop any supporters reacting to the news. After six months of love letters via owl post, Ron had returned, his tan clashing awkwardly with his ginger hair, and he and Hermione had settled back into the relationship once again.

Since third year, Hermione had realised she had feelings for one third of the trio of friends, but she hadn't acted upon them until during the war, in what would have been her seventh year of Hogwarts.

No one was surprised. In fact, nothing really changed except that she and Ron were called a 'couple'. It was a comfortable relationship, but Hermione secretly yearned for the excitement again. As she'd known Ron for thirteen years, nothing surprised her anymore.

_Until today, that is_, Hermione thought. _I suppose he wanted to move the relationship forward. _A feeling at the pit of her stomach unnerved her, and she shook the thought out of her head. _Shouldn't I be happier? _she thought desperately. _Shouldn't I be thinking of marriage?_

She settled back down into her squishy armchair, reached for her spare parchment on the end table beside it and started to write.

_Ronald,_

_ Seven will be fine. I'll see you then._

_Hermione_

She was tempted to write 'love you too' but decided against the notion. She had never been one for sentimentality.


	3. chapter three

Draco started at Muggle communication with a mixture of distaste and interest. He had bought what Muggles called a 'mobile phone' to see if there was anything he could do with them, even asking Kevin to research them over the weekend by dressing as a Muggle and investigating a company called 'Nokia'. He'd returned with lots of paperwork and leaflets, informing Draco that Nokia had made millions in profit on telephone sales alone. Kevin had then been sent to the headquarters of another company called Orange, which gave the phones 'credits' that could be spent on talking wirelessly or writing a message called a 'text'. Frankly, Draco thought it was a brilliant concept: a way for wizards around the world to communicate with each other without relying on an owl or finding a fireplace if international Apparition couldn't be granted. Of course, it wasn't quite as straightforward as simply manufacturing the telephones. Draco had to think of how to make them magical, get the money to produce and advertise them and to actually _sell_ them to the sceptical public. However, this stage of the process was Draco's favourite: imagining new possibilities, developing ideas… he revelled in it.

This product was different from the others he'd sold. He could feel something somewhere between his heart and his navel that told him that if he got this right, he could bring in the customers and money that Malfoy Incorporated most definitely needed. Although he didn't like to admit it, the entire organisation was losing profits. After the war, the Malfoys donated large amounts of money to the clean-up efforts, charities and institutions to make sure they were seen to be truly reconciled for their actions during the years that led to Voldemort's death. Even after that, no one wanted to be associated with anything remotely linked to Voldemort and Malfoy Incorporated's sales plummeted. Five years after the end of the war, the wizarding community were reluctant to trust the once-respected Malfoy family. A new product that changed the way witches and wizards communicated could, in theory, alter their perceptions of the family for the better.

Draco tucked the compact gadget into his inside jacket pocket and stood up, ready for his appointment at the Ministry to seek help from the smallest department. He quickly scrawled a note to Emma explaining where he'd gone before stepping into the fireplace and reaching for the Floo powder.

Shifting his weight awkwardly from left to right, Draco frowned as he prepared for the sensation he was about to endure and half-shouted, "Ministry of Magic!" Draco felt himself being pulled through a network of Floo-connected tunnels before landing neatly in the tiled Ministry-official fireplace. He swiftly left before the next visitor landed on top of him, brushing his suit down and making a mental note to Apparate on his return journey.

The fountain that had once housed a large anti-Muggle monument that had been destroyed the day after the final battle had now been replaced with a moving statue of Albus Dumbledore, holding a sign telling Draco that _money tossed into the fountain will be donated to St Mungo's. _He thrust his hand into his trouser pocket, pulled out two Sickles and flicked them into the running water as he walked past towards the lifts. He noticed stranger's eyes on his back; he was a well-known man after all, and often wished he had an invisibility cloak.

He stepped in the centre lift and a nervous man in uniform addressed him.

"W-What department, sir?" he asked, hands shaking.

Draco looked at the quivering figure in amusement. He couldn't have been long out of Hogwarts. Eighteen, nineteen at most, still very young. But old enough to have seen the war, to have known what Draco was like back then. Draco's amusement shifted to mild horror. _This man is scared of me, _he thought. _Absolutely terrified. _

"Um, sorry." Draco cleared his throat. "Department of the Misuse of Magical Artefacts, please."

* * *

Hermione waved automatically at Justin as she entered the office on Monday morning, nodding politely when he asked if she was feeling better. Her meeting with Ron on Friday evening went better than she had anticipated. He had actually taken most of the blame and had understood what she was feeling, which was completely unlike him. She smiled when she remembered the arguments in their third year about Crookshanks and Scabbers; how stubborn they'd both been, defending their pets. That was until Scabbers had turned out to be Peter Pettrigrew, of course. This time, Ron had just held her hands loosely and kept saying _I don't ever want to lose you _before knocking the breath out of her in a surprisingly strong hug. Hermione had to admit that she felt safe in his arms, and she wondered why Ron could stand her. She was lucky really, she told herself on a regular basis, lucky to find someone as kind and sweet as Ron. Everyone who'd met them said how they fit together perfectly, and Hermione didn't think anyone could love her as much as Ron did.

As she settled into her worn leather desk chair and took the paperwork from her in-tray, she realised she hadn't had a call-out in over three weeks. According to Arthur, there was a call-out every week when he was in the office, but now, when everyone was less _anti-Muggle_, she was lucky to get one once a month. All there was to do was file reports from a while back and meet with her eleven o'clock appointment, whoever he or she was according to the note on her desk from Hannah. She checked her diary, which updated itself with appointments and reminders and noted the meeting had only been booked an hour previously. This meant it was either very urgent, or her guest was very influential. Hermione had met with many powerful wizards and witches, especially after the war, but she had never heard of or seen anyone important coming to her tiny office. As it was considered to be the least important department in the Ministry, this meant there were fewer visitors that came there.

Truthfully, Hermione hoped for an emergency. It felt like a long time since she'd actually been out in the field. Twenty-two days ago, a group of three sixth-years on their summer holidays had just come of age and decided an acceptable celebration would be to cause an innocent social worker's possessions to enlarge, causing no end of trouble for Hermione, Justin and Hannah. However, the Wizengamot had let the boys off with a mere warning. Justin later found out that one of the boy's fathers had donated a generous sum of money to the Ministry. It showed Hermione that even though so much had changed over the past five years, some things had stayed exactly the same. For that reason, Hermione desperately wanted to leave.

Half an hour passed, and Hermione had checked the clock every minute since she arrived. It was now ten-fifty, and she was nervous but slightly excited at the same time; her legs were shaking with anticipation, and her bottom lip was red raw from anxious biting.

After a particularly violent shiver, Justin had noticed her fidgeting and frowned at his colleague.

"Hermione, is anything the matter?" he asked after finishing a mouthful of toast and jam.

"Nothing, Justin, I'm just intrigued to find out what my eleven o'clock wants. We've never had a meeting with someone this last-minute before," Hermione replied thoughtfully.

"We used to, before you came here. Roger used to meet with someone regularly to discuss his business ideas, or something," Justin told her, his nose crinkling.

"But who was –" Hermione started, but she was interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door.

"I suppose you'll be finding out in a minute." Justin smiled knowingly as Hermione rose.

She inhaled deeply whilst checking her reflection in the tinted windows that had been charmed into place by her request, after she noticed it was really rather gloomy in the already dingy office. She wasn't dressed for running after petty criminals today, having resigned to the fact she wouldn't even be standing up very often, let alone get a call-out, having donned a pair of fitted high-waisted black trousers with a silky pink blouse. She was also wearing her only pair of heels, but she always kept a pair of comfortable and practical flat shoes in her bottom drawer, just in case.

Hermione edged around her desk, exhaled and reached for the door handle. The silhouette of the person – man – standing on the other side of the bubbled glass looked strangely familiar.

With another deep breath, Hermione pulled the door open and then froze. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the doorframe.


	4. chapter four

Hermione Granger. Hermione fucking Granger. What the hell was she doing here? She was standing, frozen, in the doorway, one hand still loosely on the handle and her mouth slightly agape. _She looks like a fish_, Draco thought. _A stupid dumb fish. _

Draco raised his eyebrows and smirked at the witch in front of him as she regained her composure and stood aside to let him into the office.

"Can I… help you?" she asked tentatively.

"I was expecting Roger Warwick," Draco replied monotonously, walking in and glancing around the room.

"He left three months ago. I replaced him," Hermione informed the still-smirking Malfoy.

"Oh," Draco said, not sure what to expect next. "Well, I suppose I'm your eleven o'clock, then."

Hermione looked surprised but gestured back out the office. "Follow me to the next room. We can conduct a meeting in there." She edged past him and led the way towards the meeting room. Draco had had a few awkward encounters in the room before, but he didn't think he'd be able to survive even just a few minutes with Gryffindor's Golden Girl. He cast his mind back to their time at Hogwarts and wondered if Granger could remember his taunts of _Mudblood_ as clearly as he did. Judging by her clenched jaw and stony expression, she could.

Without making eye contact, Hermione opened the door and allowed Draco to enter first. He hesitated for a moment but strode into the dark room and waited courteously for her to offer him a seat. Hermione followed him in, and Draco winced slightly as the door slammed behind her.

"Well, sit down then," Hermione ordered, whilst lowering herself into the chair opposite Draco. A large oak desk separated them, meaning the cramped room was even more claustrophobic.

"It's a little dark in here, isn't it?" Hermione said in false confidence, flicking her wand at the lamp above Draco's head. It glowed instantly. Draco was suddenly very aware at the wand in the witch's hand. She had been there at his trial after the war, when he was cleared of all charges. She knew he was a changed man, yet she obviously still detested him and Draco knew how good she was at jinxes.

"What is it that you wanted to discuss?" Hermione asked, forehead creasing just above her nose. "I have to say, you're the last person I expected to come here. I mean, well…" She gestured at Draco.

"I've been coming here for meetings every few months for four years, Granger, it's not my fault you didn't check the records," Draco sneered, enjoying seeing Hermione blush.

"Well, in my defence, they didn't seem to be of any importance," Hermione replied, her eyes looking anywhere but at the man opposite her.

"This isn't of any relevance Granger. I'd rather this meeting be over with so I don't have to sit in a confined space with you for any length of time," Draco said, enjoying watching Hermione squirm when he said her surname. "I have come here for your – your office's…" He trailed off.

"My what?" Hermione asked impatiently, the crease on her forehead deepening.

"Your help, Granger," Draco finished reluctantly, fixing Hermione with a gaze that he could tell made her feel uneasy.

"My help?" Hermione spluttered incredulously, her eyes finally finding his.

"That's what I just said, isn't it?"

"What for?" she asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Five years ago, my father put me in charge of a company called Muggle to Magic."

"Muggle to…?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up under her fringe.

"To Magic, Granger, keep up. Anyway, I have been running it ever since. I take Muggle objects, convert them to magical items and sell them to shops and market stalls that wish to stock and sell them on." Draco sat forward, clasping his hands together on the desk.

"You? Dealing with _Muggles_? After calling me a _Mudblood_ for seven years?" Hermione asked bitterly, disbelieving at what Draco had just told her.

"Let go of the past, Granger. I don't have a problem with Muggles, or Muggle-borns come to that," he added, still smirking.

"Anymore," Hermione said quietly.

Draco shifted in his seat. "What?"

"You don't have a problem with Muggleborns anymore," she corrected, just as quietly.

Draco lost his smirk, but his eyes stayed the same. "I see you haven't changed, Granger, still the insufferable know-it-all that you were at Hogwarts." He could see that he had hit a nerve.

"And I see that you are the same pompous brat that _you_ were at Hogwarts," Hermione replied coolly. "I've never even heard of – of… Muggle to Magic. Your father couldn't have trusted his son with anything too important, could he, if he put you on top of such a _tiny_ company."

Draco clenched his fists and bit his cheeks to stop himself from retaliating.

"I would have thought you would be somewhere more… elite, using your Galleons to get into high places like you usually do. Perhaps that's all that an ex-Death Eater can amount to, the head of such an unknown company," Hermione finished, flustered.

"And I would have thought that the famous _Hermione Granger_ would be somewhere more important than the smallest office in the entire Ministry," Draco replied, his grey eyes becoming more stony and cold as he spoke.

A stunned Hermione glared at Draco for a moment before sighing agitatedly. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I told you, Granger, I need your office's help," Draco replied, boredom obvious in his drawl.

"Yes, I know," Hermione said exasperatedly. "But what exactly…?"

"I have recently acquired a new Muggle gadget, called a telephone. I need help designing the new wizarding take on it to, uh, suit the _modern day wizard_," Draco informed the shocked witch. "I think it could be something huge."

"A telephone? But… they require electricity, and they're very… well, Muggle," Hermione said, her frown returning.

"That's what I need assistance with, Granger. I thought you were meant to be intelligent?" Draco smirked. "What better place is there to look into Muggle gadgetry than the office that deals with them on a daily basis?"

Draco's eyes searched Hermione as if looking for an answer.

"I don't see how I'll be of any help," she gulped. "It's my job to tell Justin and Hannah how to reverse any hexes, jinxes or charms on the object and contact law enforcement or obliviators if necessary. I don't actually have any ideas of my own,"

Draco sneered again. "Don't pride yourself on this, Granger, I didn't deliberately seek out your help. As I said, I was expecting Roger."

"Yes, of course you were," Hermione replied bitterly, staring at her knees.

"You never were any good at creativity, you always had to follow instructions word for word, I remember. You used to memorise textbook passages before lessons in order to be the best in everything you did," Draco scoffed.

"That isn't true. Harry was always better than me at Defence against the Dark Arts!" Hermione argued.

"Oh yes, Potter would be, wouldn't he. Well, at least you beat Weasel, that ginger haired idiot."

"Don't insult Ron, he's ten times the man you are!"

"I forgot that you two are together now. What better couple, two thirds of the _Golden Trio._ To be honest, I didn't expect it to last. Weasley didn't really have his way with women." Draco laughed.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Can't say I'm really surprised, however, that you're stuck in a dead-end job at the Ministry. After all that _hard work_ at school, it gives you a chance to put your feet up and relax, doesn't it?"

Hermione stood up and pointed her wand at Draco's head. "You haven't changed, Malfoy, but I have. It was my _hard work_ that created house-elf rights and –"

"You created rights for _house-elves?_" Draco interrupted. "For fuck's sake, they _like_ working as servants!"

"More like slaves," Hermione said coldly. "I haven't finished. It was also my _hard work_ that organised the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and increased productivity by forty percent."

She lowered her wand and stormed out of the office. Before the door slammed shut, she stepped back inside and turned to Draco.

"It's _you_ who need to let go of the past, Malfoy. You may not hold the same Death Eater values anymore, but you're still the same foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach you were twelve years ago." She carried on with her dramatic exit, making sure to slam the door as loudly as she could manage.

Draco sat in seething silence for a few moments, going over what had just happened in his mind, before standing up and immediately Apparating back to his office.

"What a bloody waste of time that turned out to be," he muttered angrily. How dare she tell him he hadn't changed! He had. Or had he? Draco shook his head. He wasn't going to allow Hermione Granger into his brain.

Hermione was furious. Her optimistic mood had been blasted after her encounter with Draco Malfoy. He'd questioned her work, her ability and even her relationship with Ron. Well, she'd soon show him. Violently, and ignoring Justin's raised eyebrows, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out parchment, ink and a quill and began to write.

_Ron,_

_I've changed my mind. Come over later. Seven o'clock, my place._

_Hermione_

Folding the letter into an envelope, Hermione strode back out of her office and stepped into the corridor, glancing up and down for a spare owl. Soon enough, a tiny brown owl that reminded Hermione of Pigwidgeon landed on the shelf opposite her. "Hi, um, could you take this to Ron Weasley? He should be at the Burrow, it's his day off today."

Hermione took the envelope and attached it to the owl's miniscule foot. As she watched the bird fly down through the tunnel of offices and through an open door, she cast her mind back to Saturday night, when an understanding Ron had told her he'd _loved her_ and he was _sorry_ a million times, and Hermione had repeated _it's not your fault _and _I know you do_ profusely. They had both agreed to discuss everything with each other from then on. However, they had decided to keep the house, _for the future. _

Hermione sighed and smiled. She hoped she was doing the right thing. An image of Draco Malfoy popped into her head and she gritted her teeth, the fury returning.

Yes, she had definitely done the right thing.


	5. chapter five

"That bloody witch, Blaise!" Draco shouted. "She's such an uptight, infuriating know-it-all!"

Blaise Zabini watched in amusement as his best friend paced his living room.

"Sounds like someone has a little crush."

"Fuck off, Blaise, I wouldn't touch scum like her if you paid me," Draco spat, glaring at the tall man sitting casually on his sofa.

"Okay, Malfoy, chill out, I was joking." Blaise raised his hands in surrender, stifling a smile as he did so.

Draco stopped pacing. "How long have you been my advisor, Zabini?"

"Uh, about a year. Since I took over Owlmans from Augustus."

"And how often have you actually _advised_ me during one of our Tuesday meetings?" Draco continued, finally settling back onto the dining chair opposite Blaise.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "What's this about, Malfoy?"

"How often?" Draco repeated.

"Er, maybe once or twice," Blaise admitted.

"Exactly. Luckily, I don't pay you. If you had given me _advice _on this situation, maybe I wouldn't have had to visit Granger!" Draco said, disgusted by the memory of the previous day.

Blaise sighed and rubbed his temples. "Mate, you're just looking for someone to blame. As your _advisor_, I suggest releasing your stress by screwing that pretty assistant you keep in your office."

"Not interested."

"Come on, she's blonde, your favourite." Blaise winked, dodging the cushion Draco hurled at him.

"Pub, Zabini?"

"Pub."

* * *

"He's just an absolute _arsehole_!" Hermione burst out angrily.

Ginny smiled sympathetically at her friend, who was tearing up a piece of parchment and throwing it violently into the magically conjured fire in her kitchen.

"I know he's a git at times, but my brother means well."

"What?" Hermione looked confused for a few seconds before comprehending what Ginny had just said. "Oh! No, not Ron! Although he _is_ a bit of an idiot sometimes."

"Who, then, if not Ronald?" Ginny asked, bewildered.

"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed.

"As in Draco Malfoy? I agree he's an arse, but why the sudden bout of hate?" Ginny asked, frowning into her cappuccino.

"He just _wanders_ into my office on Monday morning and asks me to _help him_ with one of his stupid projects!" Hermione grabbed another piece of parchment from the kitchen counter and began ripping it to shreds.

"I'm still not following," Ginny replied eventually. "He asked your help with what?"

"His _stupid _company takes _stupid_ Muggle products and converts them into _stupid _wizarding items. It's just _stupid,_" Hermione answered bitterly.

"Malfoy? Working for a company that deals with _Muggles?_" Ginny's eyes almost popped out of their sockets in shock.

"Not just that," Hermione replied grimly, "he's in charge."

"In ch – wow. I'm guessing his father put him up to it as part of a _bigger plan_?"

"That's what I presumed."

"Why hasn't he taken over his father's old job? It's not as if he needs it in Azkaban."

"We, er, didn't get round to talking about that. But I think he actually, well, _likes_ it there," Hermione admitted.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Ginny asked curiously.

"Well, after he insulted my career, my capability and my relationship, I walked out. After shouting at him a bit, of course."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed, 'Mione. I've wanted to show Draco Malfoy what's what since first year."

Hermione smirked. "What about the Bat-Bogey Hex in your fourth year? I heard that was pretty _impressive_."

"Yes, one of my finest hexes, I think." Ginny snorted and drained her cappuccino. "Anyway, enough about Malfoy. What's going on with you and Ron? Harry said you'd been arguing again."

"Does anything stay secret any more?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"Not whilst I'm living with Harry, I'm afraid," Ginny replied apologetically.

"Ron and I are moving in together," Hermione said quietly, throwing the last of her parchment into the floating pit of fire before waving her wand to vanish it.

"You're WHAT?" Ginny spluttered, dropping her empty mug onto the tiled floor where it shattered. "Shit, sorry, Hermione. _Reparo_."

The mug quickly repaired itself, and Ginny picked it up and placed it carefully on the counter beside her.

"Yes, he bought a house in London, we're moving there in few days," Hermione said casually, ignoring the large crack that was still visible in the mug.

"But that's great news!" Ginny said happily. "Isn't it?"

"Oh yes, of course, I'm very excited!" Hermione said unconvincingly. "I can't wait."

"This is brilliant. You're moving in with Ron, I'm engaged to Harry, and Loony and Neville are getting married in a few weeks. Everyone's going to be married soon. We can have married couple nights!" Ginny beamed.

"Oh, Ron and I won't be getting married. Not for a while," Hermione replied quickly.

"Sure you will! Once you move in together, you'll realise you're going to be together forever, so you might as well get married sooner rather than later."

"I hope so."

* * *

"I think I'm going to ask her to marry me."

"What?" Harry Potter stopped drinking his butterbeer and placed it heavily on the thick wooden table.

"I think that's what has been bothering her. Y'know, that I haven't proposed yet," Ron said thoughtfully.

"Ron…" Harry said carefully. "Are you sure it's the right move?"

"Yeah, I do," Ron replied, staring at the bottle of firewhisky in front of him.

"Well, if you're sure."

"I've never been surer of anything in my life, mate."

* * *

Draco was sitting on the green armchair beside the fireplace in his office. Even though it was a Friday, he was in a foul temper and hadn't achieved anything all week. A faint knock interrupted his thoughts, and he growled impatiently.

"Come in."

Emma appeared nervously at the doorway, her fingers fiddling with the ring on the middle finger of her right hand.

"Um, hello, Mr. Malfoy," Emma stuttered. "Do you need anything? It's just that, well, you haven't given any of us anything to do all day. Kevin and Malcolm are deciding whether to go home early or not. They've finished with everything."

Draco's eyes blinked open and flickered over to Emma briefly. "Tell them they can go home unless they've sprouted some creativity overnight."

"I don't know what you mean, sir," Emma replied, her voice squeaking slightly.

"Don't worry, Emily," Draco sighed.

"It's Emma."

"Emma."

As Emma turned to leave, Draco let the thought that had been plaguing him all week enter his brain.

"Emma, before you go, I have a task for you."

"Yes?" Emma said curiously, twisting around to face Draco.

"I'd like you to draft a job advertisement and ask the Daily Prophet to publish it in tomorrow's paper." Draco stood up and walked to his desk.

"What's the job for?" Emma asked.

"Uh, Creative Developer," Draco improvised. "No, actually, make that… Creative Director."

"Yes, that's fine. See you tomorrow." Emma hurried out of the office. A new colleague would hopefully give the place a much-needed boost. As long as it wasn't someone prettier than her, it seemed like a good idea. Halfway to her desk, Emma stopped and smacked her forehead.

"You idiot, Emma! It's Friday, you won't _see_ Draco tomorrow!" she muttered to herself angrily. She could almost see him in the office with his knowing smirk, laughing at her stupidity. She cursed under her breath and sat down at her desk once again.

Draco's creased forehead smoothed when he realised his weekend was free; Emma probably had just forgotten it was a Friday. Keeping track of appointments and sticking to a tight schedule was something Draco prided himself on. It had been a gut-wrenching moment after Emma had told him, "See you tomorrow;" he had racked his brains trying to remember what he'd forgotten. Draco cursed his assistant for making him worry like that. He sat in silence for a few minutes, emptying his mind like he had been trained to do whilst being taught Occlumency in his teens. He did it every so often, when he was stressed or angry, in order to calm himself down. When Draco reopened his eyes, he found it was dark. _Why is it so dark? Its two o'clock! _A quick glance at his clock made Draco groan. It was seven o'clock, half an hour before his date.

Swearing, Draco lifted himself off the chair, walked straight into the fireplace and Flooed to his flat. He washed, shaved and dressed in record time and even had time for a shot of firewhisky to wake him up and calm his stomach. He wasn't nervous about his date but was more… apprehensive. The last date he'd been on had been disastrous after he had let slip he worked with Muggle appliances and didn't have access to the entire Malfoy fortune. However, his date tonight was a school friend whom he hadn't seen since the end of the war, meaning he didn't know whether her views on anyone who wasn't pure-blood had changed or not. It was almost a blind date except he, at least, knew who he was seeing.

Draco brushed down his suit for the fourth time and Apparated just outside his date's home. The house was a modern, detached bungalow with an unkempt garden, situated right on the outskirts of London. As he reached up to knock, the door swung open to reveal a surprisingly skinny Pansy Parkinson.

"Draco! How nice to see you. You look great." Pansy gave a small smile and stepped aside to let her date enter.

"As do you, Pansy," Draco replied, kissing her on the cheek as he passed. "You look beautiful, as always."

In truth, Pansy looked awful, but Draco knew enough about women to lie about it. Her hair was cut into a bob that framed her face awkwardly, and her short black dress showed off way too much cleavage. But beneath that, she looked tired and ill. Her eyes didn't smile when her mouth did but flickered around the room in paranoia. Her cheeks were hollow, and Draco could see her bones jutting out of her through her skin.

"Pansy, you… your house is lovely," Draco said, trying to ease the awkwardness.

"Thank you, I bought it a year ago, after coming back." Pansy swallowed.

"Back? Back from where?" Draco asked curiously.

"Oh, you know. Travelling," Pansy replied breathily, picking at her nails.

"I see."

"Shall we go? I haven't eaten all day." Pansy rushed, reaching back to the door.

_All day? More like all week. _"Yes. Oh, wait," Draco stopped her, smiling falsely and reaching for his wand. "_Orchideous."_ A bunch of flowers emerged from the tip, and with another flick of his wand, purple ribbon wound itself around the stems, holding them together.

"Oh, wow, thank you. They're beautiful," Pansy said expressionlessly, taking the bouquet. "_Accio vase._"

A clatter followed by a crash sounded in a room to Draco's left, and a green vase flew through into the hallway and into Pansy's outstretched hand. She placed the flowers in the vase and placed it on the empty shelf behind her.

"Right, let's go."


	6. chapter six

"Ronald?" Hermione said quietly, placing her cutlery down on her plate. Ron shoved a roast potato in his mouth and grinned at her, mouth full.

"Mmm?"

"I have a job interview today, so I'll be home late," Hermione told him, standing up to clear her plate. She avoided Ron's stare as he registered the new information, and she cringed slightly as he swallowed his mouthful loudly.

"A job interview? What for?" Ron asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Why?"

Hermione sighed. "It's for the position of, uh, wait a second." She put the plates in the sink and rooted around her bag which was on the kitchen counter. After a few seconds she pulled out a scrap of newspaper and smoothed it out.

_CREATIVE DIRECTOR WANTED_

_FULL TIME CREATIVE DIRECTOR NEEDED FOR THE DEVELOPMENT AND CREATION OF EXCITING NEW PRODUCTS_

_MUST BE CONFIDENT, CREATIVE, FLEXIBLE AND PROFESSIONAL_

_RETURN OWL WITH DETAILS TO:_

_EMMA DOBBS AT MTM IN LONDON_

Ron's brow creased as he processed the situation, and he stopped eating.

"But you already have a job," he said eventually.

"Yes I do, but it isn't really what I thought it would be." Hermione answered exasperatedly.

"So, a… Creative Director… is what you want to do?" Ron asked sceptically.

"I don't know, but there's no harm in trying," Hermione admitted.

An awkward silence was broken by Ron's movement to the kitchen where Hermione stood.

"Isn't eight a bit late for a job interview?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I thought that, but Emma said that they were rather busy during the day, so the only slot available was at eight."

"What's the company called again? What does it do?" Ron asked, taking Hermione's hand.

"It's called MTM. I don't really know that much about it, to be honest. I'll find out tonight, I suppose," Hermione told him, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't get much information from Emma Dobbs, just where the company was based and when the interview was."

"Emma…?" Ron frowned.

"Dobbs, yes. I believe she was a few years younger than us at Hogwarts." Hermione stared at the hand Ron was holding, wondering if it was normal to feel it burning.

"Of course it could just be a coincidence, but it's rather unlikely."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron agreed. He brushed a tendril of hair from Hermione's face and lifted her chin to face him. "I'm proud of you, Hermione," he said tenderly. "I'm sure you'll do brilliantly tonight."

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione half-whispered, finally catching his eyes. _Uh-oh. _She knew that look. As Ron brought her lips closer to his, she glanced at the clock, deciding her excuse today could be that she had no time before her interview for such… activities. "Ron, I only have two hours –"

"Which is plenty of time," Ron finished, slowly sliding his arms around her waist.

"I –"

"Don't worry, Hermione, we'll be finished with plenty of time to spare," Ron murmured into her neck, brushing her hair off her shoulders. Hermione realised her collection of excuses would be useless and closed her eyes as Ron gently kissed her neck. If nothing else, Ron knew how to kiss. She let him stay there for a few more seconds before kissing him on the lips as softly as she could. She ignored the nagging part of her brain that told her that the kiss wasn't making her feel good like it was meant to and let Ron lead her towards their bedroom.

Standing awkwardly in her cream blouse and black work trousers, Hermione watched as Ron pulled his shirt off. _Shouldn't I be doing that?_ she thought desperately. _Shouldn't I _want_ to do it? _She closed her eyes again as Ron kissed her, this time his hands in her hair, and faltered for a second when she felt him undoing her buttons.

"Is everything okay?" Ron asked her, stopping for a moment.

"Yes, sorry, carry on," Hermione whispered. She held back a shiver as her top slid to the floor, revealing her red lace bra that Ron had bought for her on Valentine's Day that year. She avoided Ron's stare of longing as he travelled down until the top of his head was in line with her belly button. She felt her trousers fall down to her ankles and Ron kissed her stomach, deliberately brushing against her mound of hair as he did so.

"I'm glad I'm wearing matching underwear," Hermione said to break the silence she found so awkwardly deafening. Ron paused, his fingers drifting over the elastic of her briefs. "Sorry," Hermione whispered again. "Carry on."

Ron exhaled and stood up to face Hermione before removing his trousers and kissing her again, messing up her hair. Hermione kissed him back, secretly annoyed that she would have to re-do her bun again before the interview.

It was a pattern now, their lovemaking. She knew what was coming, so nothing surprised her any more and to be completely honest, she dreaded each encounter. It was almost an automatic reaction rather than passion that fuelled her sex drive, but Hermione had told herself countless times that it was just how relationships were after a few years; you couldn't have excitement for you entire life, it would be absurd.

Ron's deep growl echoed through her head and interrupted her thoughts as she felt her knickers slip down her legs. She looked anywhere but at Ron, cringing as she felt his hot breath between her legs. Automatically, she reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to her right. She hadn't even noticed that they were a few feet from the bed, but it seemed incredibly daunting all of a sudden. Her eyes flicked over to Ron, who was pulling at the elastic of his underwear, the obvious bulge telling Hermione that he, at least, was still very excited by his naked girlfriend. _But, _Hermione reminded herself, _boys are different._

Hermione stared at a lustful Ron move closer to her, his protruding penis just millimetres from her pubic bone. When he kissed her, it was tender and loving, but Hermione wanted passion and roughness. All she wanted was to tell him what she liked, but she didn't know how. Wanting it to be over and done with, Hermione pulled Ron onto the bed where he lay over her, planting kisses on her forehead and aiming his penis into the _correct position._ It was always like this – no foreplay and quick to the point. Hermione had never experienced an orgasm before, but she knew how to fake one, so after a few minutes of thrusting and grunting from Ron, Hermione let out a chorus of moans and tensed her body for a few moments until she was satisfied she had 'orgasmed' long enough.

"Was that good, Hermione?" Ron panted, droplets of sweat beading on his forehead.

"Yes, Ron, really good," Hermione responded politely, waiting for her boyfriend to finish. After another uncomfortable thirty seconds, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that she hoped would be mistaken for pleasure when she heard a particularly loud grunt and a muttering of 'Fuck, Hermione' above her.

Grimacing as Ron rolled off her and lay breathless on the bed beside her, Hermione thought back to when she had lost her virginity. It had been shortly after the war, when they were travelling round the country naming and sometimes locating stray Death Eaters. It had been a very awkward, but sweet, encounter, rather like all the other first-time experiences Hermione had read about in books.

It had been fine for the first few sessions, but after a while (and some research), Hermione realised sex could be a lot better if they tried foreplay and different positions, but unfortunately, she didn't have the confidence to suggest it.

Wrapping the bed sheet around her in a toga, Hermione quietly got up and went to exit the room.

"Hermione?" Ron called. He was still naked on the bed, but he had propped himself up on his elbow.

Hermione turned and tried to give him her most natural smile. "Yes, Ron?"

"I love you," Ron told her softly, his eyes gazing adoringly into hers and a dopy smile growing on his face.

Hermione rested herself on the doorframe and held her smile. "I know."

As she left the bedroom, she thought she saw Ron's loving expression turn into one of hurt and sadness out of the corner of her eye.

At ten to eight, Hermione kissed Ron lightly on the cheek, muttered a quick 'see you later' and headed out into the warm air. It was a perfect summer's evening; the clouds were tinged with a light red, and the birds were chittering happily. It was more suited to a glass of wine in the garden with a good book, rather than a job interview. However, Hermione pressed on, preferring to walk for a while than Apparate straight to her destination.

Clutching her black envelope back and tucking a stray hair behind her ear, Hermione pondered about her (hopefully) future job, Creative Director of MTM. What would it entail? It certainly sounded like the perfect job for her in the advertisement. It would also show Draco Malfoy that she could be creative. Plus, she wouldn't have to worry about him _popping into the office_ every few months asking for her help. She may have given evidence for him in his trial, but that didn't mean she had forgotten the past. The scar on her arm still ached, and her screams still echoed through her head in every nightmare she had about the war, the Manor, the Cruicatus Curse and Draco's Death Eater family. She would show him she was stronger than that. She would get this job and she would be bloody good at it.

Hermione reached Diagon Alley's quiet Apparition point and thought hard of the address Emma Dobbs had sent her as she turned and Apparated with a _crack. _Landing on the doormat of her prospective employer, she noticed how dark and dreary the building was. It reminded her of Slytherin's dungeon-based common room. She decided that, if she got the job, the first thing she did would be to inject some colour and light into it. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and followed a short corridor that passed the offices of 'Kevin Whitby' and 'Malcolm Baddock' and led to a small open space. A small brunette girl stood next to a tiny cluttered desk to the left, and four plastic chairs, one of which was occupied by a young blonde that kept checking her hair in a pocket mirror, was to Hermione's right.

"Hermione Granger, isn't it?" the brunette asked dully.

"Yes, Emma Dobbs…?" Hermione said, rushing forward to shake the woman's hand.

"That's right. If you want to take a seat, someone will come and interview you shortly," Emma replied, sitting down in her chair behind her desk.

"Aren't you conducting the interviews yourself?" Hermione asked timidly.

"Me? You've got to be kidding," Emma snorted. "I'm just the assistant. Kevin, Malcolm and the boss have split up the interviews between them. There's been a tonne of applicants." She picked up a copy of _Witch Weekly _and buried herself in it.

Hermione blinked, raised her eyebrows and felt her confidence drop. _A tonne of applicants._ What if someone with more experience had applied? Then she definitely wouldn't get the job. Nervously, she sat down a seat away from the blonde and hugged her bag.

Five minutes of anxious waiting later, just as she was about to get up and leave, a short man in blue robes appeared in the doorway of the office marked 'Kevin Whitby'. Hermione expected the girl beside her to be called up, as she kept checking her watch impatiently, and made a note to leave as soon as they shut the door behind them. The man in blue robes smiled at her, and she smiled politely back.

"Hermione Granger?"


	7. chapter seven

"Next!" Draco called. As he yawned, he watched as another young woman exited his office disappointedly. Emma opened the door soon after with a grumpy expression and let another primped (and slightly plastic-looking) girl through.

"Take a seat," Draco said, smirking at Emma, who looked like she was about to murder someone.

"Last one, Malfoy. Malcolm and Kevin will be done in about five minutes." Emma slammed the door shut, and Draco could hear her heels clicking angrily. She had been in an awful mood since she walked in on a particularly attractive brunette touching Draco's leg a few hours previously.

"So what's your name?" Draco asked, dipping his quill in the inkpot for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"Orla Quirke."

"Interesting name."

"I'm an interesting person," Orla said seductively, crossing one long leg over the other and lifting her skirt up an inch.

"Erm, okay, can you tell me what experience you have?" Draco asked, ignoring Orla's obvious intentions.

"I've worked in Mother's bakery every summer since I turned thirteen."

Draco scribbled a sentence and narrowed his eyes at his pouting interviewee. She was trying to be alluring, but Draco thought she looked like a duck.

"How old are you, Orla?"

"I'm nineteen," Orla told him quietly, biting her lip and twirling her blonde hair between her slender fingers.

"And why did you apply today?" Draco pressed.

"Well, I've been told I'm very creative in… certain aspects." She winked, making Draco cringe.

"All right," Draco sighed, "we're done here."

Orla squeaked and looked forlorn as Draco screwed up his parchment and aimed it at the bin.

"Please, Draco, I need this job, my parents are kicking me out unless I find a proper job." Orla leapt out of her seat as Draco rose from his, leaning across the desk and grabbing onto his suit lapels.

"Emma will be in touch," Draco said firmly, prising Orla's fingers from his expensive clothing.

"Please, give me a chance," Orla begged. "I'll do anything!" She fumbled with her blouse and clumsily opened it, revealing her black lacy bra in desperate earnest.

Draco lifted his hand up in an attempt to protect her modesty. "Go home, Orla," he said quietly.

Tears brimmed in Orla's eyes, and she rushed out of the office, buttoning back up her top as she did so. An astounded Emma appeared in the doorframe moments later, a questioning look on her face as Draco sat back down and straightened his jacket.

"I haven't seen one serious candidate all day," Draco sighed.

"Malcolm and Kevin said the same," Emma said, stretching and planting herself on the interview chair.

"What I don't get is why they're bothering to apply in the first place." Draco raked his hands through his hair and stifled another yawn.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Emma asked incredulously.

"Not to me," Draco replied sulkily.

"They're applying because you're the famous _bad boy_, Draco Malfoy. Handsome, rich, stylish… you've got it all. Or so I'm told…" Emma stopped, flustered.

Draco's cheeks tinged pink. "Oh."

"Anyway, I wouldn't give up hope just yet. Whitby's interviewing the last candidate at the moment, and I know she'd be perfect for the job," assured Emma.

"That's great!" Draco exclaimed. "Who is she?"

"You won't like her," Emma admitted grimly.

"I don't think that's an issue."

"It's –"

"Boss?" Kevin interrupted at the door.

"What is it, Whitby?" Draco asked impatiently.

"I know it's a bit premature for me to say, boss, but I think we've found our Creative Director," Kevin told him excitedly.

"Go on."

"Right, she's intelligent, she's your age, she's already done some fantastic work at the Ministry, and she's got some great ideas for this place. Plus, well, see for yourself." Kevin beamed and pulled the woman that was waiting patiently outside into the room.

"–Hermione Granger," Emma finished.

* * *

Hermione had never been so humiliated in her entire life. Why didn't she realise? The company's name was _MTM_… _Creative Director… exciting new products…_ it was so obvious now. When Kevin had taken her into his tiny office, he had seemed very surprised to see her there, and now she knew why. How hadn't she figured out the connection? Now, Malfoy would think she actually _wanted_ to work for him, or that she wanted to apologise for Monday! But no, she'd storm out of the building and never look back.

Hermione realised she was staring at Draco and regained her composure whilst Kevin looked on nervously, sensing tension between the two.

"Boss?" he asked timidly.

"Sorry, Kevin, Emma," Draco said, not taking his eyes off Hermione. "Can you give Miss Granger and me a moment, please?"

The duo exited the room swiftly, throwing curious glances over their shoulders. As the door clicked shut, Draco moved so quickly towards Hermione that she thought he might attack her, and she raised her wand defensively.

"What do you think you're –?"

"Relax, Granger, I'm not going to hurt you," Draco snapped, eyeing up her wand.

Hermione frowned but lowered her wand until it rested at her side.

"Why are you here?" Draco demanded.

"Well, I saw the job in the Daily Prophet–"

"No, really, Granger?" Draco said sarcastically.

"Shut up and let me finish, Malfoy," Hermione replied angrily. "I–I saw the advertisement and thought it would really annoy you if I came to interview for something so… _creative._" Hermione was surprised at herself for lying so easily.

"What are you talking about, Granger?" Draco asked, his top lip curling with disgust.

"Last time we met, you insulted my creativity. Now look, I applied for the role of _Creative Director, _and your researcher was ready to give me the job right there and then!" Hermione told him triumphantly, hoping she had become better at concealing the truth since her childhood. As she didn't like to lie, she didn't do it often, meaning it wasn't one of her finest talents.

"So, you did all of this to... spite me?" Draco asked disbelievingly.

"That's the general idea, yes. It shows that I _can_ be–"

"A terrible liar?" Draco interrupted, slowly pacing around the room and watching Hermione squirm. "The thing is, Granger, you couldn't have known that _I_ wouldn't be interviewing you. This means you either _wanted_ to work for me or… you didn't realise that it was my company at all. And seeing as you made your opinion of me quite clear, I'm going to guess that it was the second option."

Hermione's mouth opened in astonishment. _Obviously I can't lie, then. _"Who are you meant to be, Sherlock Holmes?" she asked mockingly.

"Who the fu–"

"You were right about one thing though," Hermione carried on furiously, ignoring Draco's looks of confusion. "I wouldn't want to work for you, not in a million years, no matter how much you paid me!"

"Well, that's mutual, because I wouldn't want a Mudblood like you working for me!" Draco spat.

* * *

Silence, followed by a crack of Apparition as Draco realised what he'd said. He hadn't used that word in a long time, and it tasted bitter on his tongue.

"She deserved it," Draco muttered, gathering his things.

"Draco?" A female voice sounded at the door, and Draco whipped round, startled. "It's just me," Emma said quietly. "You probably should have cast a Silencing Charm on your office."

"Oh, you heard?"

"The entire street heard, Draco," Emma sighed.

"Well, don't blame me, blame that stupid witch, Grang – hang on," Draco stopped, narrowing his eyes at his assistant. "You called me Draco."

"Well, that is your name."

"What happened to _Mr. Malfoy_ and the shy Emma?" Draco smirked.

"She left when _Mr. Malfoy_ made her sit through almost twelve hours of interviewees, all gorgeous of course, asking me when they get to meet the 'man himself,'" Emma scathed, trying to put her arm through her coat sleeve.

Draco watched her struggling for a few moments before amusedly giving her a hand. "I like this new Emma."

"Me too, she's feisty," Malcolm said, passing the door on his way to the storage room. Draco raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything as Emma snorted.

"I know you hate her, but Hermione would be brilliant for this place, and you know it," Emma told her boss quietly.

"No, she wouldn't."

"Plus, Whitby fancies her."

Draco smirked. "Whitby can do a _lot_ better, and that's saying something."

"Same time tomorrow, Draco?" Emma asked, deciding he was a lost cause.

"Same time tomorrow, Emma."

* * *

Hermione landed in her kitchen, her hands shaking, her throat dry and her eyes watering. She didn't know why Draco's _Mudblood_ had affected her so much, but it had, and she was glad Ron wasn't in the room to ask her why she was so upset. She reasoned that it had hurt her so much because of their history. For a moment, she had been back at Hogwarts; Malfoy and his allies calling her names, and then she had been in Malfoy Manor, being tortured by Malfoy's aunt Bellatrix Lestrange. She clutched her arm, the scar tingling painfully. She'd have to ask Harry about magical scars, although it didn't pain him anymore. Although she had been called Mudblood countless times by various Death Eaters she'd given evidence against in the Wizengamot, this time it had really shaken her. She hadn't heard the word in a little under four years, and however proud of her Muggle heritage she was, she didn't want the fact that she had 'dirty blood' to be pointed out so harshly.

Breathing deeply, Hermione wiped her eyes on her sleeve and poured herself a goblet of water. As she was sipping, Ron entered through the front door, carrying a large paper bag.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, surprised at seeing her home. "You were quick, love. How did it go?" He dropped the bag on the kitchen counter.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to come up with a story to tell Ron. She decided to tell the truth. "The interview went great, but when I met the head of the company, it all went awful," she admitted.

"How so?"

"Well, I got the impression he didn't like Muggle-borns."

"What?" Ron looked ready to punch someone. "That's discrimination! I'll go down there and–"

"No, Ron, leave it," Hermione interrupted, raising her hand. "It's not worth it."

Ron balled his fists but stopped shouting. "Bet he was a Slytherin," he muttered.

Hermione ignored his comment and began emptying the bag Ron had brought home from the corner shop of its contents: bread, milk and Fizzing Whizzbees. She glanced at the clock for the second time that day. It was eight-thirty, too early to go to bed to escape Ron's sympathetic looks, but too late to visit Ginny or Luna or go to Diagon Alley.

As she closed the fridge door, she felt Ron move closer to her, and she shivered.

"'Mione," Ron murmured as he pulled her backwards into his torso, "I love you."

"Love you too, Ron," Hermione said, putting on a cheery tone. She didn't know why it was so hard to say recently, but she didn't want to think about it. "Do you want to watch television?"

Ron broke away from her and stared at her oddly as she turned to face him. "I don't get that thing."

"It's entertaining _and_ factual. What's not to love?"

"It's weird; a box that shows moving pictures of Muggles pretending to be something or someone else," Ron said, screwing up his face.

"I'll put a DVD on, a comedy, you'll enjoy that." Hermione brushed past him, heading towards her living room cabinet. At first, Hermione was against having an open plan living space, but she found it to be easier that everything was in the same room. "How about _Men in Black_?"

"Sure, why not." Ron sighed and went over to the sofa, taking off his shirt and revealing a grubby white vest.

"Shoes off, Ronald," Hermione said without turning around.

Ron rolled his eyes but complied, slumping heavily onto the sofa and resting his sockless feet on the coffee table.

Hermione frowned, placed the DVD in the player and sat next to her boyfriend.

"Come closer!" Ron said, trying to pull Hermione by the hip.

"Okay, fine, but I can do it myself," Hermione snapped, and she scooted a foot nearer to Ron who proceeded to put his arm around her.

As they watched the film, Ron making comments about how Will Smith would be able to kill aliens a lot easier with magic, Hermione sat in awkward silence thinking about her future.

_Is this what my life will be like? Ron and I get married and watch films together in silence for the rest of our lives? Shouldn't we be talking all day and night, making each other laugh like we used to? _

As the credits started to roll, Hermione covered a snoring Ron with a throw and went to bed for another sleepless night.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

**Thank you for all your support so far, and thanks to my beta reader from Hawthorn & Vine, Lissie Clarke. I have loads of visitors/views, but only six reviews! All your feedback is really needed, as it may change the ending of the story! I have a twist planned for chapter nine, so you guys can speculate if you'd like. Happy reading, LOVE HOLLY. **

**P.S: If anyone is good at fanart, a new book cover for this fic would REALLY be appreciated (credit will be given) as the current one is crappy (I rushed it, I'm usually better at graphics, promise)**


	8. chapter eight

Draco shoved his coat over his shoulders violently and stepped out into the surprisingly chilly Friday evening. The weather reflected his mood: he had been frosty with everyone all day. Another ninety interviews with eighty-nine ditsy girls and one very feminine man left him grumpy and a very difficult person to work with. Kevin, Malcolm and Emma had almost completely ignored him for the ten-hour day, speaking to him only when they asked for a lunch break away from the interviewees. None of the applicants they had interviewed had come close to the job requirements, and Draco was beginning to lose hope in ever finding someone who fit the description. The only person who had the qualifications and experience to even be considered was Hermione Granger, and there was more chance of English National Quidditch Team winning the World Cup next year than that happening.

Draco walked a few feet before Apparating straight to Blaise's flat in Middlesex.

"Pour me a firewhisky," Draco demanded, nodding at his surprised friend as he passed him in the kitchen.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Blaise asked curiously, watching the blond slumping down into an armchair.

"Getting drunk," Draco replied, shutting his eyes as he relaxed for the first time that day.

"No luck with finding a Creative Director, then?" Blaise asked as he poured a generous amount of alcohol into two glasses and walked into his living room.

"You could say that."

Blaise paused before handing Draco the drink. "Tell me about it, mate."

"Between Malcolm, Kevin and me, we've interviewed around two hundred applicants in two days. Not one of them was serious. I really need the staff, Zabini, what do I do?" Draco took a sip of his whisky and felt some of the tension in his shoulders drift out of his body and through the open window. _So this is why people become alcoholics._

"Malfoy, as your advisor, I suggest finding the most intelligent, least repulsive one and hiring them," Blaise chortled, sipping his own drink liberally.

"The most intelligent interviewee _was _the most repulsive…" Draco muttered darkly.

"It's always the way," Blaise commented wisely. "What was their name?"

"Granger."

Blaise spluttered and almost spilt his drink. "Granger?"

"That's what I said," Draco replied calmly.

"But… why the fuck did she want the job?" Blaise asked, moving a chair and sitting opposite Draco.

"She didn't."

"Then why…?" Blaise said, speechless.

"She told me she did it because she wanted to prove me wrong," Draco said through gritted teeth, "but I think she didn't realise I was head of the company."

Blaise let out a long breath and raised his eyebrows. "Well, at least she can be an option."

Now it was Draco's turn to spit his drink out. "What?"

"Well, think about it, she's Muggle-born, she's clever, and she's got experience."

"Yes, but she's… Granger!" Draco said, trying to comprehend what his friend was saying.

"If you could just put up with her for a few meetings, it could really help your business, not to mention your reputation, with Golden Girl Granger as part of your staff," Blaise replied.

"That's all very well, Zabini," Draco sighed, "but since I called her a Mudblood and told her I wouldn't want her working for me, I doubt she'd be ready to accept an offer anytime soon."

Blaise was silent for a few moments before draining his glass and standing up. "You probably shouldn't have said that."

"She was being annoying!" Draco defended sulkily.

"She's a Gryffindor, what do you expect?" Blaise snorted as he strode over to the kitchen and poured himself another drink.

"Maybe I'll just work overtime instead," Draco suggested, his eyes concentrating on the bottom of his glass. "Maybe I can start to work on weekends."

"No, you work too much as it is," Blaise said firmly. "You'll have to apologise to Granger and beg her to take the job."

"No, that won't be necessary," Draco replied instantly. "Can we not talk about work now? It's the weekend."

Blaise sighed and raised his eyebrows but didn't comment on the situation any further.

* * *

"I – fuck!"

"Okay, that's it, stand up."

"You're a great friend."

"Yes, I am, Malfoy," Blaise muttered. "Hold my arm, don't let go."

"Okay, Zabeefi, whatever you say," Draco slurred, gripping Blaise's extended arm tightly and hauling himself to a standing position.

"Zabini."

"No, I'm Malfoy, _you're _Zabini," Draco said with a snort.

Blaise sighed as they Apparated to Draco's flat. Half-dragging Draco to his room, he decided that next time he wouldn't let Draco near the rum.

"Where am I?" Draco asked, squinting his eyes in drunken concentration.

"Your bedroom, Malfoy. Now I'm going home." Blaise pushed Draco off his arm and watched as he crashed onto his bed and groaned.

"Zabini…" Draco started, his eyes closing.

"Think about what I said earlier, Malfoy," Blaise interrupted tiredly. He walked out of his room before Draco could reply.

* * *

"Ugh," Draco groaned as he woke. His head was pounding and his vision was blurred around the edge when he forced his sore eyes open. As he regained consciousness, he noticed he was fully dressed and curled up like a child at the foot of his bed. He groaned again as he sat up and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like a ghost: his skin was a few shades lighter than usual, and the black bags under his eyes made him look much older than his twenty-three years.

Wearily, he stood, staggered over to the bathroom and stripped to his underwear, where he relieved himself, had a quick wash, brushed his teeth and combed his hair.

"Crap," he muttered as he realised the time. Eleven-twenty. Ten minutes to get dressed before his brunch at the Manor with his mother. He almost tripped as he thrust his leg into a clean pair of trousers, waving his arms wildly for balance.

At eleven twenty-nine, he Apparated outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, preferring it to Floo travel, and tapped his wand on the steel. After a few moments, the solid metal turned translucent, and Draco strode through it, avoiding the pheasants as he followed the gravel path towards the Manor.

Narcissa was waiting outside the main entrance hall, a stern expression planted firmly on her already-lined face, next to a house-elf Draco didn't recognise. "You're late."

Draco checked his watch. "By one minute."

"Good timekeeping is what makes a successful man, Draco," Narcissa said reproachfully.

"And here I was, assuming it was ambition and good business skills," Draco replied sarcastically.

Narcissa frowned. "No need to be rude, Draco. Your father would never think about turning up late, and he's very successful in his line of work."

"Yes, very successful in his _line of work_, which is why he's rotting in a cell in Azkaban," Draco spat.

"Draco!" Narcissa raised her hand to her mouth in shock.

"It's the truth."

"Barclay, take Draco's coat for him. We'll be heading to the dining room for brunch; I trust everything is set up?"

"Y-Yes, mistress," the tiny elf squeaked, and Draco handed him his jacket.

"Good. Follow me, Draco."

Draco followed his mother into the once-grand dining room. The dining table that had once been the entire length of the room and had sat Voldemort and his inner circle of Death Eaters had been conjured into a small, square one. Draco didn't know if it had been done specially for his visit or if his mother had made it smaller when Draco moved out and she had began to eat alone. The whole prospect made him feel uneasy.

"Take a seat," Narcissa demanded.

Draco sat down and eyed the muffins hungrily.

"So, Draco," Narcissa started, pouring strong tea into a delicate china cup, "have you filled the Creative Director position at your company yet?"

Draco paused on his way to pick up an apple muffin. "How did you know I was recruiting?"

Narcissa pursed her lips. "I have a lot of contacts, Draco."

"Are you spying on me, Mother?" Draco asked accusingly.

"Don't be so silly, Draco. I'm your mother."

"Well," Draco sighed, "I didn't find anyone worth hiring."

"Not anyone?" Narcissa pressed. "I heard Orla Quirke applied. I know her mother, Cathleen, who told me Orla is a lovely, hardworking girl."

"Well, she would say that, wouldn't she," Draco muttered, remembering Orla and her bra vividly.

"I also heard from Cathleen that _Hermione Granger _was interviewed, but I told her she was mistaken," Narcissa scoffed, buttering a croissant and taking a bite.

"Actually, Mother, your friend Cathleen may have heard correctly," Draco told her as he broke a piece of muffin off and put it in his mouth.

Narcissa set down her brunch and stared at Draco in either shock or horror; Draco couldn't tell. "Are you… are you being serious?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco snapped.

"Hermione Granger…" Narcissa murmured thoughtfully. "Why would she apply to a job where _you'd_ be her boss?"

Draco told her about his interaction with Hermione a week previously. His lip curled at the memory, and his fist clenched, crumbling his muffin over the tablecloth.

"I suppose she _is_ Muggle-born," Narcissa reasoned, "but being as clever as she is, and with her involvement with the war, she could probably have any job she wanted. Maybe that's what she's trying to show you."

"Yeah," Draco replied dully.

"She wouldn't need to waste her time and skills on such a…_ small_ company."

"Yeah," Draco repeated.

"Plus, with your history together, it would probably end with a duel."

"Yeah," Draco said again.

"Stupid girl. Don't hire her, Draco."

"I wasn't going to, Mother."

Narcissa smiled at her son and ate her croissant in silence.

"Isn't it lonely, living here?" Draco said suddenly.

Narcissa frowned and sipped her tea slowly. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you're on your own –"

"No, I'm not, I have the house-elves to keep me company," Narcissa interrupted.

"Let me finish," Draco said. "You live on your own, in a mansion. There are six bedrooms, yet you sleep in just one of them. Why don't you move somewhere smaller?"

Narcissa dropped her gaze and focused on her tea. "I – I couldn't sell the Manor, Draco, your father –"

"– Is in Azkaban," Draco finished, "but I'm not asking you to sell it. Just for you to move into one of our other properties. Something smaller."

"Well, I was thinking of spending some time in the Paris property whilst – whilst it isn't being lived in," Narcissa rushed.

"Good idea, you should."

"Yes, well, I'll think about it."

They spent the rest of their brunch making polite conversation, neither one of them mentioning Draco's job or Narcissa's Paris plan again until it was time for Draco to leave.

"Don't worry about your company, Draco," Narcissa said reassuringly. "I suppose you could always employ Miss Granger!" She laughed at the hilarity of the notion.

"Yeah, I could," Draco replied, smirking. "Think about what I said, about moving out, Mother."

"Of course." Narcissa smiled and pulled her son in for a stiff hug. "I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Mother." Draco walked back down the path and Apparated to his flat, feeling the hair on the back of his neck tingle as his wards verified who he was. He sat on his favourite seat at the dining table and reached behind to pull open the drawer he used for work. On top of the top-ten candidates' paperwork, a note had been left, presumably by Blaise the previous night.

_ Think about what's best for the world, not what's best for you._

Underneath, he had placed the records of Hermione's interview. Thinking about _how_ Blaise had managed to prise them from Whitby's hands, he scanned the parchment and put his head in his hands. On paper, Hermione looked like the perfect person for the job, but even hearing her name made him want to spit.

_But it would be beneficial to your company,_ a voice in the back of his head told him.

"Yes, but how can I work with her?" Draco argued.

_You are a professional; you'll be able to work something out._

"But she'd never agree to it!"

_You won't know until you ask._

How would I even go about asking her?

_You know how._

Draco sighed and then groaned loudly. He was going to have to apologise to Hermione Granger.


	9. chapter nine

Hermione settled down into her sofa with a cappuccino and a Muggle book about vampires and werewolves, chuckling to herself every so often at the inaccuracy and stupidity of the storyline. After a few minutes of reading, she was aware of a sharp tapping on the window next to her and wondered how long it had been making that noise. She dog-eared her page, placed it on the coffee table and curiously went to the window to see what was making the tapping noise. She opened her curtains slowly and was surprised to see a large Ministry owl sitting impatiently on her window ledge with an envelope attached to its foot.

"Hello," Hermione said, surprised and a little anxious as to why the Ministry was contacting her on a Sunday, which was one of her days off. It couldn't be for Ron as he was working today; they would have talked to him there. She breathed deeply – she probably didn't have anything to worry about. It could be a letter that went to every Ministry employee, or it could be a notice about a new office in her corridor. Even so, she held her breath as she opened the window to let the owl inside before removing the parchment from its foot.

She stroked the owl and watched as it flew back out the open window and into the distance. Hermione almost ripped the letter at her eagerness to open the envelope. She lifted the flap with shaking hands, tracing the Ministry logo seal with her index finger and sliding the parchment out nervously.

_Dear Miss H. Granger,_

_ I am writing to inform you that we have regrettably come to the decision to close the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office due to inactivity. We will be handing over the responsibility of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts to the __Office for the Detection and Confiscation of__Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. There will be one open vacancy offered to members of your office, or you are welcome to apply to be transferred into another department. Please see Arthur Weasley for more information. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

Hermione read the letter four times, her hand placed over her mouth and her eyes watering. She had been _fired_. Well, not fired as such, but she was still out of a job unless she applied to work for the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. She felt sick to her bones. Still clutching the letter, she lowered herself down onto her armchair, one of the few items she had taken from her old flat, and started to cry.

Two hours and a tub of ice cream later, Hermione wiped her face and put the soggy tissues in the bin, dragging her feet in self-pity as she did so. Even though she was unhappy with her career, she still didn't want her tiny office to close and to lose her job. She was almost ready to apply for the other office job when she heard another tapping on the other window.

Hermione recognised Harry's owl immediately; it was almost black with bright blue eyes. Hermione and Ron had bought him the owl, which he called Noble, as a replacement for Hedwig. He didn't quite fill the gap that Hedwig left in his heart, but he was suitable enough, and everyone said how much the owl looked like Harry. Harry usually took offence at this.

Hermione dragged herself to the window, assuming Harry had heard about her situation and was sending his commiserations. She was grateful, but she hated the feeling that her friends were feeling sorry for her. She didn't need sympathy, she was stronger than that.

She opened Harry's letter roughly and scanned it quickly.

_Hermione_

_ I heard from Kingsley that your office was getting closed down, I hope you know how sorry I am. I'm writing to let you know that we're planning a major project soon at the Auror Office, and we could use all the help we can get. It was only meant to be a mission for the Aurors, but you've had experience in the field, and we need your help. It would be paid, so you don't need to worry about anything. Let me know by owl as soon as possible, then you can come into the office and we'll fill you in. _

_Love,_

_Harry _

_P.S. Ron sends his love, too._

Hermione stood still for a few moments, silently thinking. She had been offered a temporary job as an Auror, just a couple of hours after she had lost her old job. _This can't be happening! A job at the Auror office… without Auror training? _Hermione had wanted to become an Auror during the war, but once the fighting had stopped, she'd decided to settle into something that didn't require shooting spells at criminals and Death Eaters; she'd had enough of that. Yes, she'd worked with Law Enforcement, but she never really did Auror work. It was more finding petty criminals and placing them in binds and then bringing them to Azkaban to await trial. Aurors were like the secret agents of the wizarding world. Did she want that sort of danger again? She thought back to her childhood, spending Sunday afternoons with her father, watching various James Bond films and eating homemade biscuits. Breathing heavily, she made her decision.

* * *

"There used to be an office here."

"Maybe you took a wrong turning somewhere?"

"No, I don't take wrong turnings, Whitby."

Kevin sighed. He spotted a piece of rumpled parchment by his feet, picked it up and read the printed writing that was on it. "Malfoy, this might explain things. The office has been closed down and merged with the one next door."

"Closed? Why?" Draco inquired curiously.

"Inactivity, apparently."

Draco snorted. So Hermione had been forced to merge with another department. Her stubbornness to let other people take control meant that she _had_ to take his offer, and his apology, now, whether she had decided to forgive him or not. He walked a few feet to the office where he presumed Hermione would be and knocked briskly. A few moments later, the door opened, and a short balding man appeared, looking rather flustered.

"Can I help you?" the man asked impatiently, eying Draco queasily.

"Er, yes" – Draco cleared his throat – "I was looking for Hermione Granger."

"Well, you're not going to find her in here," the man said, beginning to close the door.

"Wait," Draco growled. "Where is she?"

The man sighed exasperatedly. "I don't know. Wait a minute. Justin!"

An eager Justin Finch-Fletchley appeared at the doorway, carrying what looked like a teapot shooting fire from its spout. "Did you want someth – oh! Hello, Malfoy."

Draco nodded in acknowledgment but did not say anything.

"Mr. Malfoy here was wondering where Miss Granger was," the man said. "I thought you might know, considering you used to work with her."

"Used to? I thought the offices merged?" Draco queried.

"They did, but only one member of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts could keep the job," Justin told him. "That, obviously, was me."

"So where's Granger?" Draco asked, frowning.

"She was transferred to another department. Really good position, apparently," Justin replied bitterly.

"So you don't know which department?" Draco pressed.

"Nope, sorry."

"Well, thanks anyway." Draco turned around and headed off towards the lifts, cursing under his breath.

"So what are you going to do?" Whitby asked, jogging to keep up with Draco's strides.

"I'll ask someone if they know where Granger is, and then I'll follow the original plan."

Draco reached the lifts and stepped inside without looking at any of the passengers, turning round and staring straight ahead.

"Malfoy?"

Draco whipped round, startled, and then groaned silently. "Potter, what a… pleasant surprise."

"What are you doing at the Ministry?" Harry asked curiously.

"Trying to find Granger," Draco replied gruffly.

"Hermione? Why?"

"I want to offer her a job at my company."

Harry raised his eyebrow and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"You look gormless, Potter, nothing's changed, I see," Draco sneered.

Harry closed his mouth and lowered his eyebrows. "Not that I should be telling you this, but Hermione has taken a placement in the Auror office, so I doubt she'd want to work for someone like you."

"Wow, Potter, that broke my heart," Draco said sarcastically. Inside, his stomach dropped. _An Auror? She'll definitely want to stick around for that job._

"Well, I wouldn't bother asking, that's all," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Draco didn't reply but amusedly watched Whitby glance nervously between him and Harry in case they started to duel.

"What job were you going to offer her?"

Draco snorted. "Oh, I'm reviving the Death Eaters, and I need someone to manage the accounts."

"I hope you're not being serious," Harry fumed, his jaw clenching dangerously.

"Of course not, Potter, how stupid can you get?" Draco spat, disgusted that Harry had taken it seriously.

"I'm not the one announcing a Death Eater revival in front of the Head of the Auror Office," Harry muttered.

The lift ground to a halt, and Draco strode out without looking back. He had enough on his plate without having to speak to _Harry Potter_ again.

* * *

"Are you Miss Hermione Jean Granger?"

"Yes."

"When is your birthday?"

"September the nineteenth, nineteen seventy-nine."

"What's my name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Are you under Veritaserum?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Hermione, that's the test questions done with. I'm going to start the real test now."

"Okay."

"All right… question one. Will you put all your effort into the task we give to you?"

"Yes."

"Will you keep your task secret from your friends and family as well as strangers and enemies?"

"Of course."

"If you are faced with the enemy, will you, if needs be, be prepared to kill in order to keep safe?"

"No."

"What about injure?"

"No."

"Stun?"

"Yes."

"Jinx?"

"Yes."

"Okay, final question. Will you be willing to spend a long time undercover, away from home? Away from Ron?"

"Yes."


	10. chapter ten

Draco was sitting in his office on Wednesday morning going through the interviewees' files for the umpteenth time when the thought popped into his head. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. It certainly would have prevented the frustration of the last few days, looking through the records of the interviewees, none of whom had the knowledge to undertake the job they were applying for. For a less important job, however… Draco grinned uncharacteristically and leapt out of his seat. He rushed out of his office, and his grey eyes found Emma's blue ones as he slowed to a halt and dropped his grin.

"Ah, Emma," he said professionally. "I have a question to ask you."

She sighed, putting some paperwork into the 'out' tray and trying to hide the sandwich on her desk. "If it's about the orders again, I contacted the shop, and it wasn't a mistake, they just didn't want –"

"No, it isn't that," Draco interrupted impatiently. "Can you come into my office for a moment?"

Emma raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything as she stood up and followed Draco back into his office. She took a seat in front of his desk when prompted to and bit her lip.

"Emma, as you know, I have been looking for a Creative Director," he said, "to no avail."

"Well, yes, obviously."

Draco cleared his throat before continuing. "Anyway, you also know that MTM is losing profits. I can't really afford to use a recruitment agency at the moment, but no one I interviewed is right for the job, so I've come to the decision –"

"Oh Merlin, you're not firing me, are you?" Emma interrupted quickly, terror flooding her face. "_You've come to the decision_ to fire me, to pay for a recruitment agency's help? Oh, I'll do anything, I'll take reduced pay, or – or… I'll work weekends, or something. Please, Draco, I –"

Draco held up his hand to silence her. "Emma, I'm not firing you."

Emma's eyes widened. "Oh. That's embarrassing."

"Don't worry about it. It was an obvious presumption to make," Draco reassured her.

Emma eyes returned to normal size, and she bit her lip again.

"Anyway," Draco said again, "I have come to the decision that I'd like to offer you the position of Creative Director. With a pay rise and new office, of course."

Emma blinked at him for a few seconds before opening her mouth soundlessly.

Amused, Draco raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to accept it?"

Emma shook herself out of her trance and beamed. "Of course! Wow, thank you so much!" She frowned. "But I don't have any ideas or anything, I mean, I took Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, but developing products… I don't know anything about that."

"Don't worry, Kevin and Malcolm will help you with that sort of thing. You're a very creative person; I've seen your advertisements you've designed for various products. You really know how to sell them."

Emma blushed. "I don't know what to say."

"Say, 'can I see my new office?'" Draco smirked.

Emma laughed. "Uh, can I see my new office?"

"Of course, Emma, right this way."

* * *

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione yelled at a hooded figure emerging from a derelict building a few metres from where she stood. The figure flew back a few metres and landed with a thud on the floor next to the rubble. Hermione rushed to the crumpled heap and lifted back his hood, wand raised. "S - Fox?"

Seamus groaned, massaging his back as he sat up. "Hi, Otter. Nice shot, but I'm one of the good guys, remember?"

"I'm so sorry; I just saw the hood and thought… well, you know." She grimaced. She had presumed Seamus had been a Death Eater. The war had done that to her – every black hood or tattooed arm she saw presented her with the need to refrain herself from shouting spells in the middle of the street. But in this environment, she couldn't hesitate for a second. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Seamus got up, wincing as his back clicked painfully. "The buildings are clear in this area. Well, they've already –"

"– been here," Hermione finished. "Have you got the map?"

Seamus pulled out a map from his cloak and blushed. "It's a bit singed from the explosion." His pyrotechnic ability had been called for when trying to enter a blocked doorway an hour previously, but one of the explosives had gone off before it was scheduled to, meaning Seamus had been thrown a few feet and had caught on fire.

"That's fine. Right, we know the Death Eater group split into two. Stag and the three older Aurors are with the larger group, which went _this_ way –" she pointed to the left of the map "– and you, Beagle and I are here –" she pointed to a spot on the right of the map "– and I think the smaller Death Eater group will be here." She pointed to a large building on the edge of the map.

"Where's Beagle?" Seamus asked anxiously.

"He was making sure the buildings on this side were clear," Hermione answered, glancing around the area for her teammate. She spotted him climbing over some rubble down the end of the street, signalling for them to come over.

Seamus sighed. "It'd better be food that he's found, I'm starving."

Hermione ignored his comment although her stomach was rumbling furiously. She folded the map, tucked it in her back pocket and jogged over to Dean.

"All of the buildings were clear except this one," he said breathlessly. "Come inside and have a look."

Hermione and Seamus exchanged glances before navigating their way around the fallen bricks and glass and heading inside what remained of the house.

As she trod carefully around the debris, Hermione recognised a smashed microwave and television on the floor. "This is a Muggle house?"

Dean nodded beside her, gesturing to a room on their right. "Through here. Fox, you keep guard."

Hermione frowned and stepped into the room, gripping her wand so tightly that she could feel every bump and groove. She didn't loosen her grip when she saw what Dean had wanted to show them.

Curled up in a corner, covered in a red blanket, was a young woman. She was stricken-faced, her eyes frantically blinking, and she was rocking slightly. Repositioning her wand in her hand, she slowly made her way over to the woman.

The Muggle whipped her head round to look at Hermione. "Get away from me!" she screamed, frightened tears streaming down her face.

Hermione pressed on determinedly, lowering her wand slightly and raising her free hand to show she meant no harm. "It's okay; we're not going to hurt you."

The woman trembled and squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for what she thought was attack. Hermione tucked her wand up her sleeve and sat down on her knees, tilting her head and wiping her dusty hands on her jeans. "It's okay," she repeated, "we're on your side. Can you tell me your name?"

"M – Marie," the Muggle said, uncurling slightly and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Marie L – Landsman."

Hermione almost gasped when she saw Marie couldn't have been older than seventeen. She swallowed her shock and smiled kindly. "Hello, Marie. I'm Herm – I'm Otter. Are you injured?"

"Yes," Marie gulped. "My side was cut when they blew up the house. They didn't see me, I hid in the cupboard."

"That was a good idea," Hermione reassured her. "Well done. We'll get you to safety soon, I promise. Beagle, get the St. Mungo's Portkey ready."

"What are you people?" Marie whispered. "You have magic wands like magicians, and you say things I don't understand."

"We're wizards, Marie, but don't worry about that now. Did you hear any of the hooded people saying what they were planning to do?" Hermione asked softly.

"They said they were going to join up with the others," Marie said. "Oh, and they said that they had captured, er, Fox, in one of the buildings he was checking."

Hermione stood and turned to face Seamus, who was standing in the doorway, her eyes widening as she raised her wand. She noticed Dean doing the same.

Seamus raised his hands in surrender, his mouth moving but no sound escaping.

"What was the spell you used when trying to turn your water into rum?" Hermione asked quickly.

"Erm, eye of rabbit, harp string hum, turn this water into rum…?" Seamus replied nervously, his eyes fixed on Hermione's wand. He sighed in relief as she lowered it before frantically pointing behind her.

"Oh well, it was worth a try," a strong voice said loudly.

Hermione groaned as she realised the trap. She spun around to see Marie on her feet, unharmed, with a wand aimed at Hermione's chest.

"Three against one, Marie? Do you really think you'll win?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"You'd be surprised. You didn't notice that I had taken this one's wand," Marie said, nodding towards Dean. Dean frowned and glanced at what he thought was his wand in his hand. It had been replaced with a fake.

"Marie, I'm giving you one last chance. Stand down," Hermione demanded.

"_Cru –_"

"_Expelliarmus_!" Hermione and Seamus yelled simultaneously. Marie's wand flew out of her hand and landed on the floor, and Seamus kicked it away. Before she reached for Dean's wand, Hermione yelled, "_Stupefy_!" and Marie flew back and landed against the wall, sliding down and hitting the floor. Her eyes rolled back to her head, and Hermione breathed out heavily, casting magical binds onto Marie's wrists and ankles.

"Shall we question her?" Dean asked nervously. "Or shall we Portkey her to the Ministry?"

"I don't think she'd speak," Hermione sighed, "she's too strong. Activate the Portkey, Beagle."

"Right away, boss," Dean muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she returned Dean's wand to him, took the Portkey from him with a section of her cloak and pressed it against Marie's exposed hand. They all watched as she disappeared from view and into the Ministry's capable hands.

A scrabbling of hands and feet at the building's entrance made the trio whip around, wands raised again.

"It's all right, it's just us," a voice said from the hallway. Dean lowered his wand, but Hermione and Seamus were less trusting.

"Stag?" Hermione called cautiously.

"Yep, I'm here with Owl, Tiger and Meerkat," Harry answered, coming into view.

"What did I say Goyle tasted like, when we used his hair in Polyjuice Potion in our second year?"

"Bogies, I believe," Harry answered with an amused smile.

Hermione pointed her wand towards the other three Aurors appearing behind Harry.

"Don't, worry, I've checked them. Plus, I've been with them the whole time," Harry explained reassuringly. "The two groups merged, but we managed to overthrow them, except for one who never turned up. The rest are at the Ministry where they can be questioned."

"We encountered the last Death Eater in there," Hermione told him, "pretending to be a Muggle. She's also at the Ministry."

"Okay, well, that's everything then. We've checked all the buildings on our side, have you done the same?" Harry asked.

"Yes, everything's clear."

The eldest Auror spoke. "Are we ready to Portkey out, then?"

"Yes, if everyone else is okay with that?" Seamus responded, glancing around at everyone in the room, who nodded in agreement. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a red pouch, lifting the flap carefully and holding it up for everyone to touch.

Moments later, the seven Aurors landed in the Auror office, which was inhabited by Kingsley, Arthur Weasley and an old, stern-looking man.

"Well done, Aurors. You passed training with flying colours," Kingsley said proudly.

Hermione grinned along with the others. Now she could finally learn what her mission for the next few weeks (Months? Years?) was.

"Okay, listen to me very carefully, this is your task…"


	11. chapter eleven

Kingsley swept his wand around the room, and Hermione felt what felt like a raw egg yolk travelling from the top of her head down to her ankles. Judging from the squirms around her, everyone else was feeling the same sensation.

"Enchantment and potion finder," Kingsley explained, "to check for Polyjuice, glamour charms, and so on."

"Were you inspecting an imposter, Minister?" Seamus asked, grimacing as the spell washed over him again.

"We always have to check, Mr. Finnigan," Kingsley said reproachfully. "This mission is the biggest one since the war; we don't want it being heard by the _wrong people_."

Seamus nodded in understanding. As Hermione glanced around the room for the tenth time, she was glad to see that everyone else, excluding Harry, was just as curious and confused as she was. Over the past week, she had gone through rigorous Auror training and testing – background criminal checks, character and aptitude tests, concealment, disguise, stealth, and tracking master classes as well as lessons in jinxes and spells Hermione had heard of, but had never used. She had gone to the Ministry early every day and stayed late, meaning she had hardly seen Ron at all. If she was in a good mood, she thought that the separation was good for their relationship. If she was in a bad mood, she was glad she didn't have to spend time with him, making awkward conversation and trying to escape the intimacy.

She watched as Kingsley and Arthur pointed their wands at the doors and charmed windows, presumably locking and silencing them. _The biggest mission since the war? What could we possibly be doing?_ She tried to steady her breathing as they finished their spells and came closer to the group.

"Right, the room is secure. This is your last chance to back out," Kingsley told them, looking deep into each Auror's eyes questioningly.

No one said a word.

"Okay. The six of you, plus Miss Granger here, have been chosen for a specific reason. You are the best of the best. You all participated in the war five years ago and did remarkably well," Kingsley informed them. "As you know, we have undercover Ministry representatives in many places throughout the Wizarding world – most importantly, in Azkaban. We have heard rumours about a mass breakout of ex-Death Eaters and some supporters." He paused, waiting for a reaction.

"Surely there are breakout rumours every day?" Seamus asked incredulously.

"Yes, but this is one that's a lot more organised," Kingsley explained with a sigh. "Usually it's just talk, but our informant has stumbled across actual plans and strategies that will work if put into practice. If there weren't so many participants in the plan, we'd be able to put an end to it right away. But it would mean the end to undercover work in Azkaban completely, the prospective escapees would know there was a spy; our cover would be blown."

"So it's our mission to stop the breakout?" the Auror Hermione only knew as Tiger asked. "I don't want to sound rude, but isn't that too easy for the training we've just received? We could overthrow a few hungry prisoners single-handedly."

The man beside Arthur and Kingsley cleared his throat. "Actually, that's not the mission. We have heard from a source from the darker Wizarding society known as the 'Underground' that there are outside accomplices involved in this as well. Your first task is to check the records for visitors to the prison in the past six months. Then, you can cross-reference them with the suspected future escapees and see if there are any links. That will only require two of you. The other five will be planning something else, which we will be telling you about at a later time." He looked around at the group expectantly.

"Hermione and I can do the record checks," Harry offered, glancing over at her. Hermione frowned. Why didn't she get a say in what she did?

"That's fine," Kingsley nodded. "After this meeting, I'll set up a Portkey for you to use in the next twenty-four hours."

"Oh, it's okay," Hermione piped up. "We've been there before; we can Apparate there."

"I am fully aware you've been there before, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, Azkaban doesn't allow Apparition. The wards make sure it was very painful if you tried," Kingsley replied.

_I knew that, why did I say I would Apparate? _"Of course, sorry, it completely slipped my mind."

"No need to apologise, Miss Granger. Just make sure you don't forget anything else. We need your ultimate concentration for this."

"Of course."

"Anyway, we will let you know the rest of your task once the records have been checked and a list of suspects have been drawn up," Kingsley told them, dismissing the meeting.

As the other Aurors left, Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and gestured for her to stay behind.

"Do you want to go to Azkaban to retrieve the records tonight?" he asked.

"Tonight?" Hermione yelped. It was already early evening, if she could trust the weather of the underground Ministry windows, and she was exhausted from the training.

"Yeah, if you want to," Harry replied. "The sooner we get going on this, the better. I'll get some Pepper-Up Potion from the storeroom, you look tired."

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully. "Okay, tonight it is. We need identification. I presume the highest Azkaban guard knows of the mission?"

"Actually, they don't. They know we're performing checks at the moment, but they believe it's for the Law Enforcement department, and it's completely innocent," Harry told her grimly.

Hermione gaped. "What? The prisoners are planning a breakout, and the guards don't know about it?"

"We're still considering that one of the guards is the accomplice," Harry pointed out.

"I see. Okay, well, we should have clearance to get the records, anyway."

"Yep. Come on, let's catch up with Kingsley and ask for the Portkey. We should be able to get going within the hour."

Forty-seven minutes later, Harry and Hermione were in the empty Auror office, staring at a broken china cup.

"Let's run through the plan one more time," Hermione said nervously.

Harry groaned. "We've discussed it forty thousand times, Hermione."

"That's a slight exaggeration."

"Okay, thirty thousand times."

"Well, anyway, we Portkey there, go to the main office, ask for the records, ask for the staff files, and get out of there as quickly as we can. Agreed?" Hermione asked, glaring at her best friend.

"Agreed," Harry sighed.

"And what will we do if he doesn't let us see any of the files or records?" Hermione pressed.

"We distract the guards and _Imperio _the head guard," Harry answered obediently.

"Right, I think we've got it."

"Hermione, we got it half an hour ago," Harry laughed.

"All right!" Hermione snapped. "I was just making sure."

"Sorry."

"That's quite all right."

"Are you nervous?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What? No, of course not," Hermione replied hurriedly.

"Hermione."

"All right, I'm slightly nervous. But only because I haven't done anything like this in ages," she admitted.

"Don't worry, this is just… administrative work," Harry reassured her.

Hermione snorted at his attempt to calm her but nudged him frantically when she saw the china cup glowing. Harry smiled at her and extended his index finger towards the cup, indicating that Hermione do the same.

"Three… two… one…"

Hermione and Harry placed their fingers on the cup simultaneously and were transported to a dank and dreary travelling room in Azkaban.

Hermione clutched her stomach. "I am never travelling by Portkey ever again," she groaned.

"Er, well, we have to go back to the Ministry by Portkey," Harry reminded her.

"I meant after that," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and rubbing her head.

"Can I help you?" a man asked from behind them. Hermione and Harry span around and smiled.

"Hello, we were sent from the Ministry to collect the prisoner files," Hermione said timidly.

"Yeah, we were warned," the guard replied. Hermione noticed his wand discretely slipping from up his sleeve to his hand. "Have you got identification?"

"Yes, we have," Harry answered, showing the guard their Ministry passes.

"Can I see them?" the man asked slowly.

"Yeah, sure." Harry passed the cards over and watched nervously as the guard tapped his wand on both of them in turn, muttering a spell under his breath. When he was satisfied that they weren't fake, he handed them back and gestured for them to follow him down a long, dark corridor. Hermione shuddered as she walked; trying to block the sounds of screams and moans of prisoners from entering her eardrums.

They stopped outside a thick panelled wooden door, where the guard proceeded to tap his wand in a pattern Hermione couldn't follow; tapping twice on the top panel, three times on the centre panel and at least another ten times on other places on the door. On the last tap, the door creaked open, revealing a small storeroom filled to the brim with parchment and folders, presumably filled with more parchment.

"Wait here," the guard directed, disappearing into the room. Hermione and Harry glanced at each other briefly, both secretly glad that it was all going smoothly as far. The guard returned a few moments later, a large folder and a smaller one in his grip.

"Here are the sign-in sheets for the visitors to Azkaban in the past year," he said, passing the larger folder over to Harry, "and here are the employee files." He passed the smaller folder over to Hermione. "Can I help you with anything else?"

"No, that's all, thank you," Hermione answered briskly. "We'll be off now. We will return these –" she lifted her folder up "– when we're finished with them."

The guard stepped outside the room and closed the door behind him. "And when will that be?" he asked.

"We can't divulge that information at the moment," Hermione replied professionally.

"You mean you don't know?" the guard snorted.

"We'll be in touch," Harry told him, dragging Hermione back down the corridor and into the travelling room.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked, retrieving another Portkey from his pocket and placing it on the small table beside them.

"Yes, I suppose I should get this over and done with."

Harry tapped his wand on the Portkey, a small broken chain, and it glowed instantly. Hermione placed her finger on a link and with the same gut-wrenching sensation of Portkey travel, was returned back to the Auror office. This time, however, it wasn't empty. Kingsley and Arthur were sitting around a small table in the corner of the room, talking to each other quietly. At the sound of Hermione and Harry arriving, they stopped their conversation and stood up to face them.

"Did, er, everything go to plan?" Arthur asked, frowning in concern for Hermione who had turned pale and was rubbing her stomach again.

"Yep, we got the visitor and employee files," Harry answered, gesturing to the folder in his hand. "We didn't have any trouble; the guard just wanted to see our passes."

"That's good," Kingsley said distractedly. "You can get on with that tomorrow. Arthur, do you want to finish our conversation in my office?"

"Yes, sure," Arthur replied, gathering some parchment up and heading out of the door. "I'll see you two at the Burrow on Saturday, of course?"

"Yes, see you there!" Hermione called as he left.

"What's the time?" Harry asked when they were alone.

Hermione checked her watch. "Almost seven. Why?"

"Shit, I said I'd be home by seven," Harry groaned. Seeing Hermione's questioning look, he explained. "Mondays are Ginny's and my date night. But if I had my way, it would be every night." He grinned sheepishly.

"More than I need to know, Harry," Hermione scolded playfully, swatting his arm.

"Well, I must dash. I'll see you here tomorrow. How does nine o'clock sound?"

"Nine is fine," Hermione conceded.

"See you later, Hermione."

"Bye, Harry."


	12. chapter twelve

Draco grinned for the second time that day and handed Emma a mobile phone. "Right, I think you're ready to start the task!"

"Really? You think so?" Emma asked eagerly. Draco, Malcolm and Kevin had been giving her tutorials for the past few days in business, developing products, testing, and finally producing. It was now Monday, and having studied all weekend, she had excelled in all the tasks they had given her. Draco was extremely pleased at how things had turned out.

"Yes, definitely," he answered. "Basically, you need to come up with an idea about how this mobile phone can be used in everyday Wizarding life, and then tell Kevin and Malcolm so they can produce a prototype and put the necessary charms on it. We'll pitch the ideas to businesses at the National Wizarding Business Event, and hopefully we'll get some buyers."

"Wow, okay," Emma swallowed, taking the information in. "The thing is I don't really know much about these, uh, phones."

"That's what _this _is for," Draco replied, handing her a plastic wallet filled with parchment and Muggle leaflets. "It's all the information you'll ever need."

"I'll get on it right away," Emma proclaimed, taking the wallet and going into her new office.

Draco smiled to himself and headed back to his own office. He had rent and wages to pay, companies to contact to try and sell some products, and some more Muggle products to look into. Three days previously, he had promoted Kevin to product producer, meaning he was in the same position as Malcolm. This meant that there wasn't a researcher _or _personal assistant in the offices. Draco didn't mind that much – it meant he could research things himself and therefore not miss anything – but he missed his coffees and getting someone else to do the menial office tasks. He had planned on hiring one of the girls he had interviewed as an assistant, but the funds had dropped dangerously low, meaning any Galleons he could save were necessary to keep the company running. He had already dipped into his own vault at Gringotts and had gone without paying himself for the past two months in order to raise enough money for paying everyone else's wages and the other fees. He hoped and wished that the mobile phone idea would pay off; otherwise, he would have to close down the company altogether.

* * *

Hermione woke at eight twenty-three on Tuesday morning, her head reeling from the information and events of the previous day. She glanced over Ron's snoring body at the alarm clock and groaned. She shot out of bed, pulling knickers, a bra, a pair of grey pinstriped trousers and a blue silk blouse on roughly as she blinked rapidly to wake herself up. She had set the alarm for seven forty-five, planning on taking a shower before she left for work, but that wasn't possible now. Ron also had to be in the Law Enforcement department at nine, but he usually got up ten minutes before he had to leave.

Clearing her throat, Hermione traipsed to Ron's side of the bed and shook him gently. "Ro-on," she sang quietly, "I need you to wake up now."

Ron grunted and rolled over so he was facing Hermione. His eyes blinked open and they stared each other for a few moments. "What time is it?" Ron asked sleepily.

"It's half past eight," Hermione whispered. "The alarm clock didn't go off; I didn't want you sleeping late."

"Why didn't you wake me at twenty-to, when I usually get up?" Ron moaned, moving the duvet off him and rubbing his eyes.

"I thought we could go ten minutes early and grab a coffee and a muffin in Diagon Alley…?" Hermione offered, stepping back as Ron stood and stretched.

"No offence, Hermione, but I'd rather just have some toast and leave at the usual time," Ron replied, stripping to his underwear and putting the same jeans he had worn the previous day on over the top.

"Aren't you changing your underwear, Ronald?" Hermione agonised.

"I only put them on last night!" Ron protested, turning to get a shirt from the chest of drawers at the end of the bed.

"Okay, well, I'm leaving in five minutes," Hermione told him resignedly. "I just need to do my hair, makeup and teeth."

"Okay, see you later," said Ron, muffled from pulling a white tee shirt over his head.

Hermione sighed and exited the room, heading towards the bathroom. Once inside, she twisted her hair into a bun, washed her face, put some mascara on her eyelashes and brushed her teeth. She checked the clock beside her mirror. Eight thirty-five. She had time to purchase a cappuccino and a muffin from one of the cafés in Diagon Alley if she left now.

"Bye, Ron!" she called, grabbing her handbag and her jacket and Apparating to Diagon Alley. She checked her watch again. Eight thirty-eight. She strode to Sam Widges, a fun café with brightly coloured umbrellas outside that covered the pink seats in shade. Inside, it was light and airy, but comfortable, with squashy colourful sofas and armchairs. It was Hermione's favourite place in the Alley.

"Hello, Sam!" she greeted, reaching for her purse. "I'll have a cappuccino and a choc chip muffin to go, please."

"Yes, of course. That'll be eight Sickles and fifteen Knuts, please!"

Hermione handed the change over and waited patiently for the brown paper bag containing her breakfast. Once she had received it, she waved at Sam and Apparated straight to the Ministry. Her walk to the Auror office was a slow one: she was sipping her coffee and trying to dodge the hundreds of witches and wizards travelling around the Ministry at the morning's rush hour.

When she finally reached the Auror Office and had said the correct password (_Remus Lupin_), she stepped into the room to find Harry and Kingsley in serious conversation. Hermione stopped and knocked awkwardly on the door, not wanting to interrupt or overhear something she wasn't meant to.

"Ah, Hermione, you're five minutes early," Kingsley stated, briefly looking at Harry as he addressed her. "I'll be in my office if you need me. Potter, come find me at lunch. Good luck with your task."

Hermione watched as he left, his purple robes swishing dramatically around his feet as he walked. "Well, shall we get started then?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry agreed. He walked to the back of the room and picked up the two folders they had retrieved from Azkaban the previous day and placed them heavily on one of the tables. "Which one do you want to go through first?"

"I think we should look at the employee files. That way, we can make sure that none of the guards have gone rogue," Hermione replied, wondering how they would, in fact, figure that out.

"Fair enough."

Hermione walked over the table and sat down on one of the squishy seats. "I'll take the first half; you can take the second half."

"Good plan," Harry declared, settling down in one of the chairs himself. He picked up the smaller of the two folders and divided it roughly in half, giving the first section to Hermione and placing the next section in front of him.

Each file contained a picture of the employee with full name, date of birth, address, a brief family description, criminal record, employment history, interview transcript and some added notes at the bottom. Hermione picked up the first file (one Corbett, Alistair), and read through it. He was forty-three, lived in Oxford, and had worked in Azkaban since he left Hogwarts with no criminal convictions except for a warning about underage magic when he was fourteen. His interview was rather uninteresting, with him giving standard responses to every question. No notes had been added. The most interesting part of the file was the faded parchment and spidery writing. Hermione sighed and put it in her 'no' section of the table.

The duo worked in silence, albeit for a few comments, reading through the files and putting them into 'yes,' 'no,' and 'maybe' piles. After twenty-seven minutes of file-checking, Harry patted Hermione's arm and showed her a file of a man called Henry Tapper.

"Look at this," Harry demanded.

"What's wrong with it?" Hermione said, frowning. Henry had been at Azkaban for fifty years, was sixty-nine years old and lived in Peterborough with his wife, Mary. He had used humour and intelligence in his interview to get him the job as Night Patroller at Azkaban and he had no criminal record. In the section for the extra notes, the word 'harmless' had been written and underlined. Underneath, a scrawled 'forgetful' and 'slow reactions' were circled. A red stamp indicated that he was voluntarily retiring in a month.

"Don't you see?" Harry pressed.

"It doesn't look like Henry could assist his own wife out of the car, let alone assist a dozen Death Eaters out of Azkaban, Harry."

"No, look at the parchment," he replied impatiently.

"The parchment's new, Harry, there's –" Hermione stopped. "Oh, I get it."

Harry grinned. "You see, it's new. However, this file was written fifty years ago, so why is the parchment so clean? It can't be more than a few months old. Look, this one's a year old and it's starting to fade already. Henry Tapper's file is almost spotless."

"So you think it's been replaced?"

"Exactly."

"But surely it could have just been torn? Or had a spill on it and was rewritten?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"No, the parchment has protection against actual damage. It can only discolour," Harry told her, reading through Henry's file again.

"Well, these notes have been written recently, probably as he's getting elderly. Maybe they saw the state of the file and cleaned it magically? It's one of the oldest files, they only started employment records fifty-four years ago; it was probably almost unreadable," Hermione reasoned, rubbing the parchment between her fingers, as if she could tell how old it was through her fingertips.

Harry sighed. "I suppose you're right. He's not interesting anyway. I'll put him in the 'maybe' pile."

Hermione didn't reply.

Five minutes later, they were done. There were one hundred and two files in the folder, most of them of people still in employment. The people that weren't were either dead or retired. Honestly, Hermione couldn't see any of them helping the prisoners escape or even supporting the Dark side. However, they still had four files in the 'yes' pile, and three in the 'maybe' pile to look over. The first in the 'yes' pile was the second cousin to Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the Death Eaters that taught at Hogwarts during the war. Although Thomas Bainbridge was a quiet, homely man with many children, the mere association with the Carrows meant he was suspicious. The second and third files were Spanish twins, Chavelle and Carlos de Lugo. They had only been working at Azkaban for two months and spoke little English. They had also been found with an escaped Spanish convict in their basement three years ago. The last file was Greg Harper who had been fired from the job of Guard a year ago due to the fact that he was getting 'too friendly' with one or two of the prisoners. This was enough motive for him to be a suspect.

Hermione looked at the files in the 'maybe' pile and moved them with the others in the 'no' pile. They weren't of any suspicion, really, just one Slytherin that had been expelled for sending a Hufflepuff to St. Mungo's with very odd injuries, a retired man who was claiming to have Voldemort's soul inside him (Harry had laughed at this, then stopped abruptly, and Hermione saw the past play out in his mind), and Henry Tapper's file.

"Right, we'll save these for later," Harry said, sighing loudly. "We can get on to the visitors now. There are just over four hundred names there."

"Is this for the last twelve months?"

"Yeah."

"Lovely."


	13. chapter thirteen

Draco marched up to the front door of the Manor and knocked twice. He waited impatiently for a few moments before lifting his hand up to knock again. Before his fist hit the hard dark wood, it swung open, revealing Narcissa, dressed all in black.

"We're not going to a funeral, Mother, we're going to Azkaban," Draco snorted, noticing the veil perched atop her head precariously.

"It's still an unhappy occasion, Draco," Narcissa replied mournfully, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and glancing at Draco's attire. "You don't seem to be dressed accordingly."

Draco inspected his outfit. He was wearing light grey suit trousers and a plain white shirt which was open at the neck. "I'm wearing black shoes," he pointed out.

Narcissa looked at her son reproachfully. "Are you ready to leave, dear?"

"Yeah, I sorted a Portkey out at the Ministry this morning. It's in the bag in my pocket." He reached into his trousers and pulled out a small leather pouch and a cloth, carefully lifting the Portkey out without touching it. "It's a tiny broken ornament."

"On the count of three?" Narcissa asked.

"Wait, why did you open your own door? Don't the house-elves usually do that?" Draco asked curiously.

"I needed to be alone, so I dismissed them for the day. They'll be back when I go to bed, to clean the rooms and prepare the breakfast," Narcissa sighed melodramatically.

Draco snorted again and held the ornament up with the cloth. "One, two, three…"

Draco and Narcissa touched the tips of their fingers to the small china horse and were elegantly transported to a familiar room.

"Are we in the right place?" Narcissa asked worriedly, glancing around in the darkness.

"Of course we are, Mother, you know we are," Draco snapped, throwing the used Portkey behind him and heading towards the corridor in front of them. Draco noticed a small light heading towards him. A lit wand, perhaps. As the light got nearer, Draco gripped his own wand and took a step backwards.

"Hello, can I help you?" the man holding the end of the lit wand asked.

"Er, yes, we're here to visit my father," Draco replied, stashing his wand back in his pocket when he realised it was a guard.

"Don't bother putting your wand away, I'm going to have to take them whilst you're visiting the prisoner," the guard said, gesturing to them to follow him.

"We've never had to before," Narcissa said quickly, "why –"

"Just a new security measure," the guard reassured her. "The Ministry advised us on it, actually."

"The Ministry?" Draco repeated, glancing over his shoulder at Narcissa, who looked very pale. "Are you anticipating a breakout?"

The guard cleared his throat. "It's just a precaution," he said calmly.

They came to another square room, this one with three doors off of it and the corridor on the fourth side. Draco knew from previous visits that one led to the storeroom, one to the offices, and another to the prison itself.

"Right, if you'd just hand me your wands…?" the guard asked nervously, looking from Draco to Narcissa and back again.

"What do you do with them when we give them to you?" Narcissa asked sharply, drawing her wand from inside her black summer cloak.

"We put them in the safety deposit box through that door," the guard replied, pointing at the door to the offices. "The door is password-protected, and only the person who places items inside the box can get into it again."

This information seemed to satisfy Narcissa, and she handed over her wand. Draco frowned and reluctantly gave his wand to the guard, feeling rather helpless and empty.

They both watched as the guard took their wands about five metres into a small entrance room through the password-locked door and tucked them away in a long wooden box with a sliding lid. It didn't look particularly magical, but the guard had convinced him that it was the safest thing to store his most treasured possession in, and he trusted him.

Narcissa grabbed Draco's arm when the guard returned, carefully closing the door behind him and muttering the password again to lock it. He saw tears threatening to spill from her eyes and rolled his eyes, unseen by his mother. They had been to Azkaban every six months or so to visit Lucius, and every time they had, she had reacted the same way. Draco began to suspect it was the whole experience of having a relative inside Azkaban's perimeters rather than the fact that she missed her husband or was upset to see him so weak and, well, as far away as being a 'Malfoy' as he could get.

"I need you to sign the guestbook," the guard told them as he came back to them in the claustrophobic room. "It's just through this door here." He gestured to the entrance of the prison itself.

"Yes, we've been here before," Narcissa snapped, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief again.

"Right, well, okay then," the guard faltered, his hand on the door handle. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, we're ready," Draco said curtly, glancing sideways at his mother again. "Please show us in."

The guard bit the inside of his cheeks and muttered another password before opening the door and standing back politely to let Draco and Narcissa in.

The noise that usually rang through Draco's ears didn't come. At first, he thought he'd turned deaf. The screams and shouts that always bounced off the walls and echoed half a dozen times were gone, the prison strangely eerier in the silence. The guard must have noticed Draco's confusion as he cleared his throat again and spoke.

"We applied silencing spells on the inside of the prison cells," he told them.

"Why? I thought that part of the punishment for these people was that they heard the pain and suffering of the others?" Draco replied sharply.

"The visitors complained," the guard said, not looking at them. Draco was good at telling when people were lying, and he was ninety percent sure that the guard wasn't being honest with them.

"Or it could be to stop the prisoners conversing with each other, planning even," he muttered. The guard either didn't hear, or he ignored him. Draco presumed it was the latter.

"Can you fill in the visitor form, please?"

Narcissa took the folder from the guard and frowned. "You have a new folder; there are only three files in this one."

"Yes, er, the other folder was full," the guard replied airily.

"Couldn't you have used an expansion charm?" Narcissa asked accusingly.

"Well, erm, if you must know, our other folder is being looked at by the Ministry," the guard explained reluctantly. "Nothing to worry about, just regular checks."

Draco and Naricissa glanced at each other warily. Narcissa sighed again and took the quill that was placed on a small table beside the entrance and dipped it in the ink provided. She opened the folder and began to write on the end of the document before passing both components to Draco.

Draco signed his name, his time, the date, and his reason for visiting, and handed the folder back to the guard, placing the quill back onto its resting place on the table. He and Narcissa watched as the guard wrote something they couldn't read with his own inkless quill, nervously staring around the walls of the prison entrance.

"Right, are you ready?" the guard breezed. "We'll be walking down this corridor here and then heading up the stairs on the right."

"We have been here before," Narcissa whimpered, her strong voice diminished by Azkaban's terrifying atmosphere.

"Yes, sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," the guard apologised, gesturing for them to walk on.

Narcissa grabbed Draco's arm as they walked, neither of them looking down any of the dark corridors that came off the one they were walking down, knowing that they'd be full of silent screams of prisoners who were losing their minds. Draco faltered when they came to the steps, realising that he would be, in fact, seeing his father for the first time in almost a year. He had missed the last visit due to work, but from what Narcissa had told him, he hadn't missed much. Lucius was ashamed to be in Azkaban, understandably, and even more so that his wife and son had to see him in the prison. Because of this, he sometimes refused to talk to them, sitting in the far corner of his cell with his back to the bars.

"Come, Draco," Narcissa whispered, pulling him slightly. "Your father will want to see you."

Draco sighed and carried on with his journey up the staircase. When he got to the top, he walked the familiar path towards his father's cell – left, right, left, and left again – feeling the butterflies in his stomach turn into swarms of bees. He didn't know why he was so nervous about seeing his father; maybe it was something to do with Lucius' diminishing sanity, but he was being stupid.

"Right, here we are," the guard said breathlessly, having had to jog to keep up with the tall Malfoys' strides. "I'll take off the silencing charm for thirty minutes; you'll have that long to speak to him." He waved his wand and muttered a spell.

Narcissa made her way over to the bars, her eyes swimming with tears again whilst Draco stood behind her, avoiding looking inside the cell. He could hear his mother murmuring to her husband, crouched down and presumably whispering sweet nothings in his ear. This went on for a while before Narcissa stood up and beckoned her son over.

"No, it's okay –" Draco started.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco," Narcissa interrupted. "Your father wants to speak to you."

Draco sighed and walked slowly towards his father's cell, dreading the encounter. The last time he had visited, Lucius had refused to talk to him. It was like that sometimes. He'd be talkative, silent, unstable or angry, but Draco couldn't tell what side of Lucius' personality would show through today.

As he reached the cell, Lucius stood shakily, using the bars for support. Prison hadn't treated Lucius well. His long blond hair looked like it had been hacked off; it was longer than the rest in places, and it was turning grey, whether from age, stress, or dirt Draco didn't know.

"Come closer," Lucius croaked, seemingly unused to speaking.

Draco obliged. "What do you want, Father?" he said bitterly.

"How is the company doing, Draco?" Lucius asked hoarsely.

"I don't know, Father, ask the person you put in charge."

"Draco, you know I did that for a reason. You weren't ready to look after the company on your own. Plus, I know you didn't really want to. I didn't want to force you to look after it for the rest of your life."

Draco rolled his eyes childishly. "It would only be for the ten years that you were in here, Father. I won't even be thirty when you get out."

Something flickered in Lucius' eyes. "Ah, yes, of course."

"I know you only put me in charge of MTM so it looked good on the family," Draco accused.

"Yes, but I thought you'd have had the sense to close the company and move onto something better by now, Draco," Lucius confessed.

"I happen to like my job, Father, and I plan to keep going with it for as long as possible," Draco replied shortly.

"I have to say I'm surprised," Lucius said, narrowing his eyes. "I honestly believe you have changed your views, Draco. That was my plan, but I didn't think it would work."

"Well, it has."

"I am glad."

A long, awkward silence followed, and Draco glanced at his mother, his eyes pleading for her intervention. She hurried over from her place next to the guard.

As Draco went to leave, Lucius grabbed his arm and pulled him closer.

"What are you –"

"Draco, is your mother coping on her own?" he asked roughly.

"What?"

"Is she… seeing other people?" he continued.

"No, Father, you know she loves only you," Draco told him quietly.

"Tell her to leave the Manor, to go to one of our other properties. The Manor is too big for one person. I worry about her."

"I have done, Father, she's going to Paris next week," Draco said curiously.

"Good, good," Lucius replied distractedly. "Stay safe, Draco."

Draco nodded and backed away, leaving Narcissa to rush to Lucius' side again.


	14. chapter fourteen

"Do you want to start checking these immediately?" Hermione asked grimly, after placing the employment records back inside their folder.

"Yeah, unfortunately. There are rather a lot of them, I'm afraid, so we need to get going with them as soon as possible," Harry sighed, placing the smaller folder on the table next to them and putting the large of the two in front of them.

"Do you want to do half and half again?" Hermione offered, scrunching up her face at the sight of the four hundred entries.

"I don't know; we need to look for any suspicious visitors or if any visitors have been to see multiple prisoners. Then we can see who is on the list of the prospective escapees and carry on from there."

"Good plan. You look through the first sheet, and then I'll double check and make notes," Hermione replied, nodding as she went over the plan in her head. "I'll write down the visitors' names, the dates they visit and which prisoner they see, if I, or you, think they could be the outside contact."

"Perfect. Let's get started."

The pair worked diligently, reading through every visitor record carefully, trying to find a pattern amongst the seemingly random visits.

"Found anything yet?" Harry asked after the twelfth page.

"Nothing. But then again, this _was_ a year ago. I doubt they would have been planning anything for that long," Hermione sighed.

"Shall we skip a few months?" Harry suggested. "We can always look though the pages we've missed after we've finished."

"Yeah, good idea. Shall we do… the last six months?"

"That's fine with me," Harry said, flicking through the parchment to find the right page.

Three-and-a-half months' worth of entries later, Hermione stopped and jotted something down on her notepad.

"What are you writing?" Harry asked, scanning the page in his hands briefly.

Hermione put down her pen and showed Harry her notes. "Look. Four months ago, Mrs. Goyle went to visit her husband."

"Mary visits every four months. Why is that noteworthy?" Harry frowned.

"Exactly, she organises visits every _four months_. But look, here, she came two months later, and then again six weeks after that," Hermione told him gleefully.

"Well… she probably just missed him. How would you like to be separated from Ron for that long?"

_I'd probably enjoy it. _"I suppose. But it's worth writing down anyway."

"What else have you got down?" Harry gestured to the neatly written notes underneath.

"Well, do you remember Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked, knowing the answer already.

"Of course, how could I not?" Harry replied, staring at an interesting part of the table.

Hermione grimaced. "Sorry. Anyway, he has been visiting Azkaban once every couple of weeks, but not with Narcissa, who visits every six months. He does go with her on her scheduled visits, but he's been going to see a selection of people as well."

"Wow, okay," Harry said, clenching his jaw. "Do you think he's behind it, then? You saw him at the end of the war, Hermione; I don't think he could do this."

"He's evil enough," Hermione muttered, recollecting her encounter with him. "The Malfoys are good actors, Harry. He could have seen the end of the war coming and pretended to –"

"No one's that clever, Hermione. You saw it yourself, he was being forced into it," Harry interrupted.

"Well, what has he been up to, then?" Hermione huffed.

"I don't know. Carry on with the rest, and we'll go through it all afterwards," Harry told her, grimacing as he shifted to a more comfortable position.

Long minutes dragged by as they read through the remaining entries. At the end of their task, they were exhausted, having read through over four hundred names, dates and reasons for visiting in the past couple of hours. As Harry sorted the parchment back into the folder, Hermione frowned at her notes.

"There isn't _anything_ in here!" Hermione groaned. "Apart from Goyle's wife and Malfoy... nothing. I agree that Mary's situation isn't suspicious, but Malfoy's is. I definitely think we should take a closer look."

"Are you just saying that because of your meeting with him at the Ministry the other day?" Harry asked, smirking slightly. "You shouldn't let your judgment be affected by your emotions, Hermione."

"Harry, look at his records! He's visited a lot of well-known ex-Death Eaters in the past few months. Isn't that what we were looking out for?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Okay, fine, we'll look at the predicted escapee list and compare, okay?" Harry sighed.

"I wouldn't put it past him, organising a Death Eater rebellion," Hermione muttered darkly.

Harry stopped sorting the parchment and his eyes widened. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh, what? What's wrong?" Hermione asked quickly.

"I bumped into Malfoy the other day at the Ministry," he told her slowly.

"What was he doing here?" Hermione replied sharply.

"He said –"

"What?" Hermione interrupted. She stopped looking at her notes and twisted her head to meet Harry's gaze.

"I thought he was joking, but he said he was reviving the Death Eaters," Harry said with a groan. "You don't think…?"

"And you just let him walk around the Ministry?" Hermione yelped.

"Well, he said he wasn't being serious and that I was stupid for thinking so," Harry admitted.

"Harry!" Hermione moaned.

"We can't prove anything until we bring him in for questioning, Hermione. Let's sort that out, first."

"Fine, I'll get Kingsley –"

"Get Kingsley what?" a deep voice interrupted.

"Sir!" Hermione exclaimed. "We might actually have something here."

"Nothing definite, though," Harry added, frowning.

"Tell me everything you've found," Kingsley's calm voice echoed around the room.

Hermione and Harry spent the next few minutes telling the Minister for Magic about their findings and about Draco Malfoy's supposed involvement with the escape. After they had discussed all they had found, Kingsley frowned and spoke to Harry.

"Potter, you saw Malfoy at the end of the war. Do you think he'd be capable of this?"

"Honestly, no, unless he's a terrific actor," Harry answered truthfully.

"But he could be!" Hermione piped up.

"Yes, Miss Granger. But we cannot jump to conclusions. It may very well be that he never left the Dark. Or it could be that he is being framed or is completely innocent in this," Kingsley said.

"He could be doing the work of his father, I suppose," Harry offered, glancing between Hermione and Kingsley nervously.

"This is all just speculation. Potter, you and Miss Granger will find Mr. Malfoy and bring him in for questioning. I'll get the Veritaserum. Make sure you don't let anyone know, understood? This is between the team members for this mission, no one else. We will meet at the interrogation section in one hour. Bring Malfoy to the holding room, and wait for me there."

Hermione nodded once and gestured to Harry to follow her out of the room. As soon as the door was closed, she cleared her throat and looked at the floor.

"Harry, I don't think I should go and see Malfoy, I mean –"

"I understand, Hermione, I truly do, but according to Ginny, you went to his offices the other day. If we're going to Apparate there, I need you to take me."

"Can't you Floo in?" Hermione pleaded.

"Think about it, Hermione," Harry replied exasperatedly. "Is he really going to let me into his fireplace?"

"Fine," Hermione huffed, "I'll take you in, but I'm standing behind you. And I refuse to talk to him."

"Deal. Are we going now?"

"Well, we only have an hour, and I doubt that Malfoy will come quickly. He'll want answers first," Hermione sighed, not looking forward to the next few hours at all. She knew she'd have to witness the interrogation if not question him herself. She couldn't think of anything worse.

Harry took her arm, nodding at her and grimacing slightly. After counting down from three, she Apparated to a spot a few metres from Muggle to Magic. She stood, frozen, staring at the building that loomed before them. Harry didn't let go of her arm.

"Is it in here?" Harry asked, pointing at the large black door with his free hand.

"Yes. When I came for the interview, I just walked in, but I doubt that will be the case now," Hermione said breathlessly, her head spinning from the Apparition and the oncoming panic attack she could feel starting from her chest.

Harry squeezed her arm. "I'll sort it out. You stay behind me, just in case."

Hermione nodded curtly, watching Harry as he left her behind and studied the door.

"There's a doorbell here," he said. "That's probably for the Muggles. He's had meetings with them in here before."

Hermione didn't say anything, secretly surprised.

"I'll tap it with my wand, see if anything happens. If not, I'll try _Alohomora_."

Hermione nodded again, trying to regulate her breathing and steady her pounding heart. Why was she so afraid? She was with Harry. Malfoy couldn't harm her if she was with Harry.

Oh, but he could. He could harm her; harm her with words. She recalled their previous conversation. _Mudblood. _That's what he made her feel like. Dirty. Not worthy of being Magic.

"Hermione?" Harry called worriedly. She looked up and realised Harry had the door open and was halfway into the building.

"Sorry, I was… daydreaming," Hermione said, shaking her head in attempt to rid the panic-inducing thoughts from her head. It didn't work. "How did you open it?"

"Well, I tapped my wand on the doorbell, but I just got a 'buzz off,' so I _Alohomora_'ed it."

"Brilliant. I'll be right behind you, just follow the corridor until you reach the receptionist," Hermione informed him, gesturing into the offices.

"Right, well, let's go, wands out."

Hermione complied and followed Harry into the building, nervously clenching and unclenching her fists. They stealthily walked into the open space that Hermione had waited in before her interview, wands raised. Harry stopped, relaxing his stance and letting his wand drop to his side.

"There's no one here," he said disappointedly.

"Draco's probably in his office with the assistant," Hermione told him anxiously. "Do you remember Emma Dobbs from Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry replied distractedly. "Is this his office here?"

Hermione gulped and nodded.

"I'll knock, okay?"

"Okay."

Harry gripped his wand tighter and slowly walked to the office door, Hermione following closely behind. He raised his hand, breathed deeply and rapped on the door twice.

A few moments later, the door swung open, and an agitated Draco Malfoy appeared. "What do you want Kev – oh." He stopped, glancing anxiously from Harry to Hermione, frowning slightly at the sight of the latter.

"Hello, Malfoy. We're going to have to ask you to come with us to the Ministry."


	15. chapter fifteen

Draco's eyes were fixed on a smudge of dirt – or was it blood? – on the grey wall opposite him. His hands were magically bound together in invisible handcuffs, and his wand had been confiscated, yet he had no idea why he had been detained. Just thirty minutes previously, he had been going over his budget for the next month. Now, he was sitting in the interrogation room at the Ministry, the same room he had been held in after the war. Was he being tested? Five years had passed with hardly any mention of his involvement in the war, why now?

Draco's eyes flickered to the door, which had opened silently. Harry stood in front of it, his jaw twitching as he surveyed the room.

"There's nothing in here except me, Potter," Draco declared, rolling his eyes.

"It's procedure, Malfoy," Harry sighed, sweeping his wand in an arc. Draco felt something cold wash over him and knew he was being checked for enchantments.

"What am I here for?" Draco inquired.

"I can't tell you that right now," Harry informed him before muttering a spell under his breath. "Okay, you'll be given Veritaserum in a moment and then asked a series of questions. Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand, how idiotic do you think I am?" Draco snapped.

Harry raised his eyebrow and made a note on the parchment that had appeared next to him. When he had finished writing, he turned his head and nodded at someone out of sight behind the door. Draco stared at the smudge on the wall again.

A few moments later, Harry came up behind Draco's seat, a small flask clenched in his hand. "Open your mouth."

"Why?" Draco replied with a smirk.

"Don't be difficult, Malfoy. Swallow the Veritaserum."

Malfoy complied reluctantly, opening his mouth to feel the cool liquid forced down his throat.

"Is your name Draco Abraxas Malfoy?" Harry asked, glancing at his parchment.

"Yes," Draco said automatically.

"Were you sorted into Slytherin?"

"Yes, Potter," Draco snorted.

"This is serious, Malfoy," Harry said exasperatedly. "Are you in contact with any ex – or current – Death Eaters?"

"Yes," Draco answered through gritted teeth.

"Which Death Eaters are you in contact with?"

"My father."

"How often do you visit Azkaban?" Harry pressed, still taking notes on his sheet of parchment.

"Once every six months, to see Lucius Malfoy. You can check Azkaban's records –"

"We've already done that, Malfoy," Harry interrupted. "We found your records. It seems that you've been visiting more than every six months."

"That's false. Your records are incorrect," Draco stated.

"We will be modifying your memory so you will have no recollection of this meeting."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Harry frowned. "I am about to tell you something that I would rather you not know outside of this room, but I believe you may be able to tell us more information."

"Tell me, then, Potter, before the Veritaserum wears off," Draco sighed.

"We are anticipating a mass breakout from Azkaban, all ex-Death Eaters. We need to know who the outside contact is that is helping them, so we can put a stopper on it before it begins. We don't have an idea as to who the contact is, so we have looked at the Azkaban visitor records. Your name popped up a number of times, visiting each prisoner involved in the breakout. Can you tell me why this is?"

"No," Draco said simply, his mind buzzing.

"Do you know anything about the breakout plan?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing.

"No, nothing at all," Draco admitted. "Is my father involved?"

Harry breathed out. "We don't know. Lucius and the other high-ranking Death Eaters aren't in our spy's section of Azkaban."

"You have a spy in Azkaban?" Draco asked, surprised. "Isn't Azkaban _run _by the Ministry?"

"Yes, we have a spy. He can slip prisoners Veritaserum to find out about prospective escape plans. The thing is, each one of the prisoners think that they're the only person involved in the escape plan. They cannot say, write or sign the name of the person who told them about the escape plan in any way. We presume that they've been made to take the vow, which overrides pretty much everything," Harry told him, frowning even more deeply.

"How did you find out about the escape plan to begin with, then?" Draco asked, trying to make sense of it all.

Harry breathed out. "They have a code word for each section of information. Through some careful questioning under Veritaserum, we found that out. Then, by accident, our spy stumbled upon one of the code words during a Veritaserum session, unlocking the information we know: there is an escape plan."

"That's all you know? That there's an escape plan?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Yes. But after we asked all of the prisoners on the standard level of Azkaban, we noticed a pattern. We then figured out that they were getting outside help."

Draco lifted his handcuffed hands up and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know anything. I haven't been visiting Azkaban, except for visiting my father, and he never told me anything when he wasn't in Azkaban, anyway." Draco paused, thinking things over. "Couldn't someone have just written my name down, as a fake name? Or to frame me?"

"Yes, that is possible. However, the guard will know your face, most people do. So he wouldn't have believed the fake name."

"You flatter me, Potter," Draco growled. "But it wasn't me. I'm under Veritaserum, I can't lie."

"Yes, I know that. Could you have provided a hair to anyone related to this matter?"

"I don't know," Draco said, narrowing his eyes. "Polyjuice?"

"Yes, that could be another way of _being you_."

"Anyone can get anyone's hair, Potter. It's not difficult. There's one of your hairs on the table."

Harry blinked, looking for the offending hair. "Malfoy, I think we're done here. We will be holding you for a little longer, however."

"I have a business to run!" Draco protested angrily. "You can't keep me here!"

"Actually, I can. In a few minutes, someone will be in to take you to the holding room." Harry grimaced and got up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Draco didn't say anything. Harry finished a note on his parchment and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

On the other side of the magically-made transparent wall, Hermione was watching anxiously, listening intently to every word Draco and Harry said. As soon as Harry reappeared next to her, she grabbed his notes and scanned them, her mouth silently forming the words as she read.

"You think he's telling the truth?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Yes, he's under Veritaserum, Hermione," Harry sighed, taking back the parchment.

"He might have been trained though! Lucius was, couldn't he have taught his son?"

"Hermione," Harry warned, "I trust him. I know he didn't do this."

Hermione huffed loudly and folded her arms. "Fine."

"Can you take him to the holding room? I just need to speak to Kingsley about something."

Hermione glanced behind her at Kingsley, who had been watching silently. He nodded once.

"Harry, I –"

"Don't, Hermione," Harry interrupted wearily. "Please."

Hermione bit her already-sore lip. "Okay." She turned on her heel and walked swiftly out of the room, her mind swimming with frustration. _Well, even if he is telling the truth, he's still a giant arsehole, _she thought angrily.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened the door to the interrogation room and tapped her sleeve to make sure her wand was safely stowed close by. She stared at the side of Draco's head for a while, her feet not wanting to move any closer. Instead, she cleared her throat.

Draco's head whipped around so that he was staring directly at her. "Granger? What are you doing here?"

"I work here, Malfoy," Hermione said, her voice catching on the last syllable.

"Yes, I know that. Are you sure you're as clever as you say you are?" Draco snorted.

"I'm here to take you to the holding cell," Hermione told him, ignoring his comment. "Can you please stand so I can perform the necessary charms?"

Malfoy glared at her, his jaw twitching, but he slowly stood, stretching his hands out towards her. Hermione blinked and tapped his restraints twice before dragging the invisible cord around her own wrist, where it was held tight. She turned and tugged Malfoy along with her, out of the door and down a short corridor that concluded with a thick grey archway with what looked like a shimmering silver cloth hanging from it. A security wizard stood outside on the left, his eyes unblinking and his wand held tightly in his right hand. He nodded to Hermione and tapped his wand on archway before stepping back to his original position.

"Through here, Malfoy," Hermione said, gesturing for Draco to head through the archway first.

"What's in there?" Draco asked trepidatiously.

"This archway is the entrance to the holding cells. After the breakout three years ago, we installed it to prevent further escapes," Hermione told him flatly. "It lets people in with a tap of a security wand, but it is impossible to leave without a Ministry official and a password, which changes every few hours. Only Kingsley knows the password, and he lets us know what it is when we need it."

"So once I'm in here, there's no getting out?" Draco asked with a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Not until we've decided you're fit for release," Hermione answered with a sigh. "Can you step through the archway now?"

Draco swallowed and stepped through the archway at an angle, pulling Hermione roughly with him. "I felt something."

"The archway removes all effects of spells and potions, not including the restraints. You were feeling the Veritaserum's effects wearing off," Hermione replied through gritted teeth. "I'll lead now, please."

Draco followed her obediently, glancing at the doors he passed on his way down the second corridor.

"In here," Hermione said, stopping at the last door on the right. "You will wait here until someone comes and fetches you later." She tapped her wand on her wrist again, and her hold on Draco released. She watched nervously as he entered the room and sat gingerly on the hard bed that was inside. Just as she was about to walk off, Draco cleared his throat, and she turned around exasperatedly.

"What, Malfoy?"

"I'm going to make sure _you _and your _department_ pay for this, M – Granger."

Hermione stared at the former Slytherin for a few moments before shutting the door and walking back to the other Aurors, tears brimming in her eyes.

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE**

**hey guys, sorry this one's taken so long! tell me what you think, and whether it was worth the wait.**

**in the next chapter, things start to get going, so expect more action, angst and EVENTUALLY some dramione! i know it's a slow build-up, but i think it's unrealistic to expect them to bang straight away. i have no idea how long this is going to be; i originally thought 20 chapters, but i screwed up my plan and changed things around completely. hopefully for the better. anyway, chapter sixteen will up be up shortly. **

**please review!**

**holly xoxox**


	16. chapter sixteen

Hermione re-entered the watching room slowly, blinking rapidly to hide her watery eyes. She spotted Harry and Kingsley at the back of the room, hidden in the shadows, and she hesitated, not wanting to interrupt.

"Did everything go smoothly?" Harry asked without turning around.

"Y – yes," Hermione answered, her voice cracking slightly. "He's in the room furthest away from the archway."

"Did he say anything on the way?" It was Kingsley who spoke this time, his low voice booming around the small room.

"He was angry, as expected. I think his exacts words were, 'You're going to pay,'" Hermione told him, still hovering at the entrance.

"Understandable, if not a little overdramatic," Harry noted.

"So what now?" Hermione blurted. "I mean, we've interviewed our only suspect. What do we do now?"

Harry stole a brief look at Kingsley before shifting uncomfortably. "We have a plan, but you're not going to like it," he said quietly.

"Oh?"

"We'll gather the others, and then I'll explain. This involves them, too. We'll talk in meeting room three."

Hermione nodded and was about to exit, but she stopped and looked at the pair again. "Minister, you said that you knew the plans and strategies the escapees have, but in there, Harry said he didn't know. What's going on?"

Kingsley frowned slightly, and then smiled. "You're sharp. I'll let you know everything once we've found the others. They can tell you what they've been planning, too."

Hermione smiled politely and left, her mind swimming with possibilities. It was late afternoon, meaning the other Aurors in her team were probably in the planning and preparation room in the Auror offices, so she rushed to get there, eager to find out what it was that Kingsley knew and about the plan.

She was soon in the main office, trying to decide which door to try first, when Seamus emerged from the corridor on the right.

"Seamus!" Hermione exclaimed. "Kingsley wants us to assemble in meeting room three. Can you get the others?"

Seamus looked up in surprise. "Uh, yeah. We were finished anyway."

Hermione beamed, watching as Seamus went back the way he came. She made her way to the third meeting room, gradually getting more and more excited as she went. She remembered a time before the war where she would revel in _having a plan_, and _knowing things,_ but when the war hit, she hated it. _It has been long enough_, she decided. She could finally get excited again.

She was the first person in the room, even arriving before Kingsley and Harry, so she took her seat near the door and waited impatiently for the others. Soon enough, the Aurors began filtering in, until there were eight people sitting around the circular table: Dean, Seamus, Harry, Kingsley, Mr Weasley, and the three Aurors whose names Hermione could not remember. There was a whispered buzz around the room which halted as soon as Kingsley raised his hand.

"Hello, Aurors, Hermione," Kingsley greeted, nodding at her. Hermione nodded back. "As you know, I have informed you of the planned Azkaban breakout. However, I haven't been entirely truthful." Kingsley waited for a reaction. When he didn't get one, he continued. "I told you that we knew of 'plans and strategies.' However, we do not. All we know is that there is an escape plan, and we know of most of the prisoners involved in it."

Hermione frowned and looked at Harry. "I thought you were lying to Malfoy when you said you didn't know anything!"

Harry squirmed. "Let Kingsley finish, you'll understand."

"Thank you. We'll know when they escape, of course, which will be soon. The five of you –" he gestured to Seamus, Dean, and the three older Aurors "– have been planning _our _strategy. Can one of you fill Miss Granger in?"

"I'll do it," one of the older Aurors said. He stood up and turned to Hermione. "I'm Jacob by the way, Jacob Ravensbourne. Er, basically, we have been planning an interception kind-of thing. We let them escape, but put up wards that start past Azkaban's border that will make sure that when they Apparate, they Apparate right where we want them. Then, we find out as much information as we can and take them in. That's the tricky bit. There are far more prisoners than Aurors, but they're all out of practice, so as long as we know what we're doing…"

"So we're _letting _them escape?" Hermione quizzed.

"Yeah," Jacob answered sheepishly. "We don't actually know _how _they're escaping, so we can't stop it from happening. But if we catch them, we can find out who was involved, and –"

"There's been a change of plan," Kingsley cut in. Jacob sat down silently. "Instead of taking them in, we're letting them carry on." The Aurors around the table all looked up, their mouths dropping open.

"What do you mean, letting them carry on?" Dean asked loudly. "They're prisoners; we can't just let them roam the country! They're dangerous!"

"Yes, I know that, Mr Thomas," Kingsley sighed, "but we have a new plan."

Harry stood up and cleared his throat. "This was my idea, actually. If we do it my way, we'll be able to catch the Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban, the outside helper, plus the actual escapees."

"And how do you plan to manage that?" a nameless Auror piped up.

"By working undercover," Harry replied. He glanced around the table, and smiled weakly at Hermione, who was frowning so hard that her nose was wrinkling. "Their new Death Eater regime will expand, and some people will be part of the expansion. The rest of us will be at the Ministry."

Hermione ran through what Harry had just said in her mind. "Will I be undercover?"

"I don't know yet," Harry admitted, grimacing. "I'd much rather you stay at the Ministry, planning."

"You know that's not fair, Harry," Hermione said indignantly. "And who will we use for Polyjuice?"

"Good question," Seamus said loudly. "I was wondering that myself. It's going to look a bit odd if we use someone in the Ministry as a Death Eater."

"We will only be using Polyjuice for one person, who will be dressed as Amycus Carrow."

"So there will only be one person undercover at first?" Hermione squeaked.

"How the hell are we meant to walk up to a Death Eater, steal his hair, and not be killed instantly?" the Auror sitting to the right of Dean asked.

"We'll do it in Azkaban, just before the escape takes place. Once everyone's out, Amycus can then suggest they do some recruiting. Then, our other undercover agent will come along," Harry told them calmly. Noise erupted around the table.

"Who will it be?"

"Why are there seven of us if you only need two people?"

"Can I be the agent?"

Kingsley held up his hand again. The table fell silent. "The person who will be pretending to be Amycus will be Peter." The Auror sitting next to Dean looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"So, who's pretending to be the newrecruit?" Dean asked urgently.

"Not any of you if I have anything to do with it," Kingsley informed them.

"Who, then?" Seamus asked with a sigh of irritation. "Why aren't they here now?"

"I haven't asked them to do it yet," Harry responded. "But I think he'll do it, with the right persuasion."

Seamus folded his arms grumpily. "What's the point in training if we're stuck in –" "Are you going to tell us who it is or not?" Hermione interrupted impatiently.

"Well, I know you'll think I'm mad, but I'm going to ask Draco Malfoy," Harry admitted.

Noise broke out once again, but Hermione stayed quiet.

"Shut it!" Dean yelled. "Let him speak."

"Thank you, Dean," Harry said gratefully. "I know that Malfoy is in a holding cell at the moment, but I never believed it was him who was planning the escape to begin with. He would be the perfect person to go undercover – he was on the Dark side once, after all – and I think he would agree to do it."

"Harry," Hermione started, "what if he goes back to them?"

"If he does, there's a cell in Azkaban with his name on it. Malfoy never really was on their though. Yes, he was a massive git –"

"Still is," Hermione muttered.

"– but he's not a bad person. At least, not anymore."

"I don't think –"

"It's a brilliant idea," Dean interrupted quietly. "He'll know what the Death Eater's expect, what they're like… he was one, after all. Whoever he disguises himself as will look like the perfect recruit."

"Actually, he won't be taking Polyjuice or disguising himself in any way," Harry corrected. "He'll be going as Draco Malfoy: Death Eater. His story will be that he never defected. He will tell them that he saw the outcome of the war and only pretended to defect in order to save himself from Azkaban."

Hermione digested the information, glancing around the room. Everyone besides Kingsley, Mr Weasley, and Harry was frowning.

"What if they don't take to him?" Peter asked slowly. "He avoided Azkaban; they're bound to have issues with that."

"We've thought of that," Kingsley replied. "Peter, when disguised as Amycus, will find out as much information as he can. He'll know if the organiser of the escape will actually be at the meetings. If not, then Draco will say he helped come up with the escape, and any information will go through him to the 'boss'. If not, then we go for the 'new recruit' approach."

"I don't know about this, Harry. Can you trust him?" Hermione asked apprehensively. "How do you know he will agree to this?"

"I don't," Harry said. "We can try, though."

"What's the primary purpose of this mission?" the last unnamed Auror asked curiously.

"Good question. We arrest all the Death Eaters again, plus any recruits. We catch the Death Eaters we missed when we arrested them after the war, and we find the organiser – or organisation – that started all of this. They're very clever; it might take a while – a few weeks, maybe – to get to bottom of this I think that's it…?" Harry glanced at Kingsley for confirmation and smiled briefly when he nodded.

"How will Malfoy relay information to us?" Seamus questioned.

"We have a safe house, one we used in the war. Two Aurors will take it in shifts to stay there, and Mr Malfoy will use it as his home to return to after meetings. There, he can communicate any information to us," Kingsley replied.

"And what if his friends want to come and visit? Won't they think it's suspicious that he never lets them in the house?" Hermione pressed.

"The Malfoys have always been a very private family. It's probable that the Death Eaters will know this and not question it," Kingsley reassured her. Harry nodded and sat down.

"And if they do?"

"We'll deal with that if it comes up."

* * *

Draco sat on the edge of the hard bed, his head bowed, his hands still locked together. He didn't know how long he'd been in the cold, grey room – not very long – but it was long enough. He stood up and started pacing, only having to step twice before turning around and going back the way he came. He didn't have to pace for long. Draco's head whipped around as he heard the door creak and watched as it opened.

"Granger, back so soon?" he drawled.

"Please step this way," Hermione said monotonously. Draco obliged, holding out his wrists for her to lock his onto hers.

"You won't be needing these," she told him, tapping her wand on the restraints.

"Are you letting me go?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Not quite yet," Hermione said shortly, leading him towards the archway. She whispered the password, grabbed Draco's wrist – much to his surprise - and pulled them both through.

"Granger, wait a second," Draco hissed, pulling his arm free and massaging the grip-marks.

"I don't have time to wait, Malfoy," Hermione hissed back. "I'm taking you to Kingsley."

"The Minister for Magic?" Draco asked, frowning. "Why –"

"You'll find out why when we get there," Hermione sighed. "Now, come on!"

"No, Granger, let me speak!"

Hermione stopped and huffed. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I wanted to say, I mean…" Draco swallowed and breathed out. "I am apologising for calling you… well, you know, when I saw you the other day."

Hermione frowned and folded her arms, her mouth opening slightly. "You're saying sorry?"

"Yes. I don't hold those views anymore, it just – it just slipped out. Old habits."

Hermione's frown deepened and she unfolded her arms. "Thank you," she said slowly.

"Carry on now, Granger. You wouldn't want to be fired so early on in your new job."

Hermione sighed again. "Come on, this way."

Draco followed Hermione through the corridors, stopping just outside the Auror office.

"Are we going in?" he asked when Hermione didn't make any sign of movement.

"You are, I'm not."

"So do I just… go in?"

"Yes."

Draco gritted his teeth and opened the door, his feigned confidence faltering as he saw the panel of people in front of him. "Er, hi."

"Please sit, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley said, gesturing to the seat in front of him.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm here for," Draco said nervously, glancing at the four people staring at him.

"I will tell you in a moment. I believe you know Mr Potter here?" Kingsley asked, not expecting a response. "This is Mr Weasley, my Undersecretary, and the Senior Obliviator, Roland Park."

"Obliviator?" Draco repeated quickly. "Oh, the questioning. I assume you're going to remove that from my memory?"

"Not yet, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley corrected. "We have a serious proposition for you. If you decline, you will have no memory of your Ministry visit. If you accept, you'll go into the meeting room, and you'll be informed of the details. Understood?"

Draco nodded dumbly.

"Good. We are in the process of planning an Auror mission, involving ex – and current – Death Eaters. We need someone undercover, and we thought that person could be you."

Draco didn't say anything for a few moments. "Let me get this straight, you accused me of organising the fucking thing, and now you're asking for my help?"

It was Harry who spoke next. "Malfoy, I knew you weren't in on it. I had an idea, and it was a good way to bring you in."

"Undercover as a Death Eater?" Draco spat. "I defected, Potter, they're hardly going to be happy to see me!"

"We would make sure they thought you were pretending to defect. We have another Auror going undercover first," Kingsley told him.

"Why would I want to help you?" Draco sighed.

"We're the Ministry, Mr Malfoy. We can make anything happen; families could be questioned over suspected illegal activities, businesses could be liquidated… I could go on," Kingsley said, dipping his head and bringing his hands together as if in prayer, never taking his eyes off Draco.

"Is that a threat, Minister?" Draco snarled.

"It's merely an observation."

A long pause echoed around the room, smothering Draco in pressure. "What do you need me to do?" he asked eventually.

Kingsley nodded to the Obliviator, and he left without saying a word. "Through here, Mr Malfoy."


	17. chapter seventeen

The mission had been repeated more than thirty times, and Draco was getting restless. He had understood the aims and the plans the first time it had been explained, but the Aurors were acting like he was stupid. Harry had hissed to him that he should sit still, shut up, and not ask questions, but his mouth was burning for a snide or sarcastic comment to pop out, especially as he had been glared at by everyone in the room continuously – particularly Hermione, who looked like she was about to throttle him if he so much as coughed too loudly. She was taking notes as usual and was narrowing her eyes in concentration as she listened to whatever Kingsley was talking about.

"… and that is all I have to tell you. Have you understood everything?"

"Yes," Draco said shortly, glancing at everyone seated around – and in front – of him. They were all staring intently at him with the exception of Hermione, who was furiously staring at anything _other_ than Draco.

"Good. Now, we need to discuss who will be at the safe house and who will be at the Ministry. Whoever is at the safe house will be the contact between the Ministry and Mr Malfoy here. They will also be writing up reports, doing research, et cetera," Kingsley explained. "We will need two people, I think, for alternate nights on duty. When not on duty, they will be at the Ministry planning with the other Aurors."

"Do we have to provide food and, er, towels and things?" Dean asked timidly.

"The cupboards will be stocked. And yes, Mr Thomas, there will be 'towels and things'," Kingsley replied, frowning slightly. "The only things you will need to bring are any personal items, clothes, and your wand. We will also give you detectors and anti-intruder alarms."

"What wards will there be?" Seamus asked. "Anti-Apparition?"

"No. We need to be able to Apparate to and from the Ministry, and Malfoy needs to Apparate straight into the safe house to avoid being followed."

"What if a Death Eater grabs hold of him when he Apparates? Are there wards for unwanted visitors?" Seamus pressed.

"We don't want to cause suspicion. Malfoy will have a way of communicating with the Auror at the safe house so they will know when he is coming back, meaning they have a chance to make sure they're not immediately obvious in case there is a situation like that. However, I hope I will be assured that it _won't_ happen." Kingsley looked pointedly at Draco, who gritted his teeth and nodded his head once.

"So what now? Do we wait for the escape?" Peter sat up straighter, knowing that his undercover work would shortly begin.

"We believe it's going to happen in the next week. Obviously, we need to swap the real Amycus Carrow with Peter, who will be under Polyjuice. This means that we have to intercept, which would be difficult, as you can imagine. Peter will be put in the cell tomorrow morning, which will be carried out by Miss Granger and Harry." Kingsley turned to Hermione. "The three of you will go to Azkaban on the premise of returning the files you borrowed and then ask to visit Amycus. Once there, you will force the guard to take a potion that will make him do anything you ask. You will order him to let Amycus out. Then you can take Carrow's hair and let Peter take the Polyjuice. Carrow will then take Polyjuice to look like Peter, and the two will swap clothes. You will then _Obliviate_ the guard and come back to the Ministry where Carrow will be contained in one of the cells here."

"What will the rest of us do?" Draco questioned. "How will we know when I can go in?"

"Peter will be given a coin – a Galleon – which he can send us messages with," Harry answered quickly. "Genius invention of Hermione's when we were in Dumbledore's Army in fifth year."

There was an awkward pause.

"Well, yes. I got the idea from the Dark Mark and how Voldemort summoned the Death Eaters with it. It'll get hotter when there's a new message rather than… well, you know," Hermione said shyly, her eyes flicking prejudicially over to Draco's left arm. Draco tugged at his sleeve automatically. The ugly black tattoo had faded five years ago, but there was still a scar there: both physical and emotional.

"Yes, well…" Kingsley started, glancing between Hermione and Draco. "It was a good idea for such a young witch."

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right, I get the picture. When the actual escape is going on, what are we going to tell Azkaban? I mean, they'll expect us to go over there and intervene."

"We _are _going to intervene, Malfoy," Harry informed him. "We'll just get there too late and then won't use spells that would actually stop them from escaping."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Draco muttered. "That's what the Ministry does all the time, isn't it?"

Watching amusedly as each person in the room glared at him, sniffed loftily, or looked down in embarrassment, Draco stood up. "Right, if we're done here…"

"Sit down, Malfoy," Harry said wearily. "You need to have a tracker spell performed on you so we can tell where you are."

"Do you expect me to leg it as soon as I get undercover? Or, better still, actually join them?" Draco scoffed, remaining stood up. "I can assure you, I have no interest –"

"No, it's for your safety, actually. Once your spell is performed, your location will appear on a map, wherever you are," Harry told him with a sigh. "We will then see your surroundings too – doors, windows, walls, and the like. We developed the spell and the map from the Marauders' Map."

"What the fu –"

"It's a map of Hogwarts I, er, obtained in third year," Harry explained hastily. "It shows the entire castle as well as where everyone is. It came in very handy for my trips to Hogsmeade and night-time wanderings. It meant I wouldn't get caught."

"I could have done with one of them maps," Draco muttered. "I was always getting caught by Snape."

"If you've finished reminiscing…?" Kingsley said loudly. "I'd like to perform the spell on Peter and Draco."

"Yes, of course, sorry, Minister." Harry cleared his throat and watched as Peter and Draco shifted nervously over to Kingsley, not knowing quite what to expect.

"_Vestigium Tabulam_," Kingsley boomed, sweeping his wand over the pair. The tip of his wand turned a pale blue. He narrowed his eyes and turned to Hermione. "Have you got a large piece of parchment?"

"Erm, yes, here," Hermione replied, passing over the parchment under her notebook. "Will that be enough?"

"Yes, that's perfect, thank you." Kingsley tapped the parchment with his wand, and immediately two blue spots appeared on the parchment.

Draco peered curiously at the parchment and was surprised to see faint black lines forming across the page, eventually becoming walls and outlines of furniture and finally circles that he presumed were people. The lines stretched to the edge of the parchment, but he noticed large blank sections inside the Ministry's walls. "Why are some places not on the map?"

"Unplottable," Hermione said immediately before blushing and staring at her feet.

"What?"

"Unplottable," Hermione repeated. "It's so people can't use maps like this to see what's inside certain departments. Malfoy Manor was Unplottable – still is, I think – so I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't brought up to ask questions, Granger, unlike you, who can't get enough of them," Draco sneered.

Hermione stayed silent, still blushing.

"Malfoy," Harry warned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to _remain civil_ if I want to _partake in this mission_," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. He felt Hermione's icy glare burning his skin.

"Well, I think it's time we go home in preparation for tomorrow. We shall meet in the Auror office at 9 A.M. sharp, and you will be leaving at ten for Azkaban for the swap," Kingsley told them.

"Do I have to come in?" Draco asked loudly.

"Why wouldn't you be required?"

"Well, I have to look after my business. I've already missed a day already."

"Some things are more important than your _business_, Mr Malfoy," Kingsley said disapprovingly.

"Actually, Minister, wouldn't it be pointless for Malfoy to be here when we're actually in Azkaban? Surely it wouldn't make a difference if he sorted things out at his office and then came back after an hour or so?"

Everyone stared at Hermione in shock, but Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Trying to get me thrown off the team, Granger?"

"Not at all. It was just an idea. But if you don't want to go back at all, so be it!" Huffily, she turned away from him, folding her arms.

Draco stayed silent, not knowing how to feel.

"Hermione has a point, Minister, if not a surprising one," Harry said quietly. "Just an hour won't affect the mission. I can make sure he doesn't say anything if I go with him."

Kingsley hesitated for a moment before he sighed loudly. "Fine. But no more than an hour. Apparate there, sort out whatever you need to sort out, and then Apparate back."

Draco nodded, glancing at Harry in appreciation. The mission might be important, but his business, however small, still came first. "You're dismissed. Make sure you're all here at nine tomorrow morning."

Draco waited for everyone else to stand before he moved. Walking out of the room, he caught Hermione's sleeve, pulling her back slightly.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she huffed crossly. "I want to get home."

"Why did you back me up? About me going to MTM tomorrow?"

Hermione sighed. "You may be a massive git, but I liked the idea of your business. I actually have one of your pens. It would be a shame to see it go to waste."

"I – thank you, Granger."

"You're welcome."

Draco realised he was still holding her robe. "This changes nothing."

"I didn't think it would. I think we should agree to not get along to save any nasty encounters in the future. I don't want to jeopardise this mission."

"I agree. However, I'm not going to shake your hand. I wouldn't want to get whatever disease you have crawling on your skin, Granger," Draco sneered, taking a step backwards.

Hermione sighed again. "Goodnight, Malfoy. I'll see you tomorrow at nine."

Draco watched her leave, frowning at her back as he wondered what her game was. She was being too nice to him. She was planning something.

* * *

Hermione Apparated just outside Ron's – no, _their_ house – and took a breath before going in. It was late, getting on for ten, and she didn't expect Ron to be pleased about it. Whenever she didn't let him know when she was going to be home late, he always stayed in a mood with her for hours.

"Ron?" she called as she walked through the door.

He was sitting on the sofa, his back to her. "Where have you been?"

"The Ministry. Sorry, we were really busy, and –"

"Why didn't you owl to let me know? I was at the Ministry, too; you could have sent a memo or something."

"Ron," Hermione said exasperatedly, "I was in meetings all day; I had no time to send you an owl! I don't know why you're so angry!" Tears were forcing their way out of her eyes, partly from Ron's anger but mostly at her tiredness.

Ron turned around, his face softening as he saw her state. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I was worried, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I'm just tired. I think I'm going to go to bed now." She turned on her heel and went into the bedroom, closing the door silently behind her.

Ron slept on the sofa that night.


	18. chapter eighteen

**A/N: sorry for the wait! both me and my fabulous beta over on hawthorn & vine have a lot of work at the moment. this chapter is slightly longer than my other chapters, but there was a lot to include!**

* * *

At precisely eight fifty-two the next morning, Hermione entered the Auror office after receiving no answer to her knocking. "Is anyone in here yet?"

There was no answer. She bit her lip and took her seat at the centre table and spread her notes from the previous meetings in front of her, waiting patiently for everyone else to arrive. She began to wonder if anyone had bothered to make sure that Malfoy wouldn't tell anyone about the mission. Hermione had to be subjected to Veritaserum to be accepted onto the mission, and then there was the unspoken warning that if she let anything slip, Kingsley would _Obliviate _her and make sure that she never worked for the Ministry again. She made a note on the bottom of her parchment to ask Harry – _Malfoy staying quiet?_ After rearranging her notes into a neat stack, her mind slipped back to that morning's argument and eventual reconciliation with Ron. He had apologised for his overreaction like he always did after such disagreements but had still suggested Hermione contact him if she 'planned on staying late again'. Hermione had pretended to agree with this compromise if only to save any more arguments; she didn't want to make Ron sleep on the sofa for another night, even if his feet hung comically over the edge. She shut out the voice in the back of her head that told her she had taken pleasure in having a double bed to herself. She certainly had enjoyed the silence compared to the rumbling snores she had to endure every night. She smiled, however, as she remembered Ron's present for her as she was leaving for work – he had gotten up early and bought her a croissant from the patisserie in Diagon Alley. It wasn't her favourite muffin, but it was still a kind gesture.

"Thinking of Weasel, Granger?" Draco was standing at the doorway, wearing his trademark smirk like a trophy.

Hermione flinched. "It's rather rude to sneak up on someone like that, Malfoy."

"I didn't _sneak up _on you. It's not my fault that you were daydreaming and didn't notice me knocking." He walked into the room with a slight swagger and sat down two seats to the right of Hermione.

"I wasn't daydreaming, I was just _thinking_ of, um, some important…" She trailed off, flushing.

"I'm sure you were, Granger," Draco replied sarcastically. He looked in amusement at the stack of parchment in front of her. "Are you the official note-taker for the meetings?"

"No, but I am actually taking this mission seriously, and taking notes is a good way to keep on top of things," Hermione informed him. "You should think about taking notes too."

Draco snorted. "No thanks." His eyes travelled again to the parchment. "Wait, does that have my name on it? Are you writing notes about _me_?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione brushed off. "It was just a reminder to ask Harry about the methods – if any – they have used to make sure you don't blab about the mission to anyone."

Draco rolled his eyes and let out a short laugh. "Nosy, aren't you? Not that it's any of your business, but if I do anything out of line, my business will be shut down."

Hermione gaped. "Did Kingsley actually _say_ that?"

"He insinuated it."

"You must have been mistaken."

"I was not mistaken, Granger!" Draco growled, but his expression dead-panned as Harry walked in with Peter and Seamus.

"Everything okay in here?" Harry asked cautiously. He glanced at Hermione, who nodded. "Malfoy, Kingsley is on his way, and then we can go and see to your business. Hermione, as I'm going with Malfoy, Seamus will accompany you to Azkaban."

"Yes, I did wonder about that. Will the guard be okay with Seamus coming, considering you came with me last time?"

"Yeah, should be. Don't worry about it," Harry replied with a smile. "You'll be fine."

Harry, Peter, and Seamus took their seats, Harry in between Hermione and Draco, and Seamus and Peter sat in the seats to the left of Hermione. There was an air of trepidation in the room, and everyone sat in uncomfortable silence for a few long seconds, waiting for Kingsley and the others to arrive.

"So," Peter started, "what's everyone up to this weekend?"

"Actually, it's my birthday!" Hermione beamed. "I'll be –"

"I'm doubtful whether you'll be able to have any time off for birthday celebrations," Kingsley interrupted, striding in the room with Arthur, Jacob, and the other older Auror.

_I must write down his name_, Hermione thought absently.

"Yes, of course, but if the escape hasn't happened yet… obviously we'll be on call twenty-four-seven, but if we haven't gone undercover…" Hermione trailed off and glanced around the table.  
"Spit it out, Granger," Draco drawled, picking the skin on one of his fingers.

"I was thinking of having a soiree at my house, a barbeque in the garden if the weather's nice. Of course you're all welcome to come." She looked around at everyone – excluding Draco – with a smile.

"I won't be attending. I have too much to prepare," Kingsley answered gravely. "If any of you go, you'll be expected to be on full alert. I will give you all coins so you can be contacted easily. I expect the escape will take place on Friday at the latest however, and, of course, if it does you will be at the Ministry."

"Yes, I understand," Hermione replied. "It's number fourteen, Hollyhock Lane. We're hooked up to the Floo network, or it's a three-minute walk from Diagon Alley."

"I'll definitely be there with Ginny!" Harry told her. "If there hasn't been any news, of course…" he added with a nervous glance at Kingsley.

"Just come at six. I'll invite all the Weasleys, work friends, and my parents. It'll be fun."

"If you're quite finished?" Kingsley boomed. "It's time for you to go to Azkaban and for Mr Malfoy to attend to his… personal affairs. You all know what you're doing. We'll meet back here in one hour. Go."

Hermione waited until Kingsley had made his swift exit before whispering to Harry, "Oh. Do you think I irritated him by talking about my birthday?"

"No, don't worry about it. He always gets tense when we're about to go on a mission," Harry reassured her. "You'd best get going! Seamus has the Polyjuice and the Potion, and you know the hand-restraint spell anyway, don't you?"

"Yes, she does," Malfoy growled. "She used it on me, remember?"

"Ah, yes," Harry replied awkwardly. "Sorry about that. We'd best get going too, Malfoy."

"All right, lead the way."

Harry and Draco got out of their seats and headed towards the door. "Good luck at Azkaban, you three," Harry said cheerfully.

Seamus and Peter stood up too, nervousness showing on their faces. "The Portkey is in the planning room. Are you ready?" Peter asked.  
"Yes, if you are," Hermione breezed, standing up herself and tucking her notes in her robe.

In a few short moments, the three of them were standing around a broken toaster, Hermione carrying the records they had borrowed.

"When I tap it with my wand, it'll glow blue, and we have three seconds to touch it," Peter explained. "Then, well, you know what to do."

Hermione and Seamus nodded silently.

Peter took a deep breath and tapped the toaster. "Three, two…" As soon as they laid their fingers on the appliance, they were transported, rather uncomfortably, to the travelling room at Azkaban.

"Right, I'll just look for the guard…" Hermione said to no one in particular. She took out her wand and wordlessly lit it, lighting the corridor in front of them. She took a tentative step forward, but stopped when she saw a guard hurrying down towards them.

"Can I help you…?" the guard asked, looking suspiciously between the three of them and eying the Ministry badges on their robes.

"Yes," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "We are here to return the records that we, er, needed to check on Monday."

"Oh, yes, I remember. Well, if that's all, I can take them for you?" the guard offered, raising his hands.

"Oh, um, actually, I need to see you put them back into the storage room," Hermione replied hurriedly. "It's just protocol."

"Okay…" the guard said slowly. He took the folders from Hermione's grip and motioned for her to follow him.

Hermione held back to whisper to Seamus and Peter. "It's your turn now, Seamus. How are you going to slip him the potion?"

"Watch and learn, amateurs!" Seamus answered confidently, waggling his eyebrows.

Peter rolled his eyes and led the trio down the corridor, coming to a sudden halt just short of the room that the records were previously kept in.

"Oh," Seamus said loudly, drawing out the potion from his robes. "I'm really thirsty. I'm going to have a drink."

Hermione and Peter exchanged furtive glances.

"That's… nice," the guard said with a frown. He stopped tapping his wand on the door, opened it, and placed the records back into their home.

"Is that the best you can do?" Hermione hissed, snatching the potion from Seamus and popping out the stopper. "_Obduco_."

The potion came out of its glass tube and found its way into the guard's open mouth. Seamus frowned sulkily and retrieved his wand from his sleeve.

"All right," Hermione said nervously, "can you take us into the prison itself, please?"

There was a lengthy pause before the guard answered, "Yes, I can."

He didn't move, and Hermione frowned. "Take us then."

"Yes," the guard said, and he whispered a password into the door to the cells, which opened.

Hermione noticed the eerie silence of the prison and prodded Peter. "Go on, you go first."

Peter clenched his jaw and nodded once. "Can you take us to the cell that Amycus Carrow is being held in?"

"Yes," the guard repeated, not hesitating before walking ahead of them, leading the way.

"I have a question, Hermione," Seamus said quietly. "How is this different from the Imperius curse except for the commands having to be spoken?"

Hermione thought about her answer for a nanosecond before replying. "Well, _Imperio _can only be used by one person, whereas the potion can be used by as many people as you want. Plus, the person's mind is left intact, unlike _Imperio,_ and they know what they're doing all of the time. It's awful really."

"And you can just get this potion in the Apothecary?" Seamus looked horrified.

"Oh, no, no you can't," Hermione rushed. "It's an illegal potion except for in situations like this, and even then it has to be certified by the Minister, which it was."

"That's good, that's good," Seamus answered distractedly.

They were heading towards a damp staircase. Hermione knew that the farther up they went, the more evil the witch or wizard was that was being kept there. On the top floor, the criminally insane were kept. Hermione had only been up there once when she was working for the Ministry for the first time and had to escort the guards bringing Rodolphus Lestrange to his cell. Ron and Harry found him in Latvia two months after the war, talking to his dead wife in a Muggle hostel. Hermione hoped that he would not be involved in the escape. He had put up quite a fight when he was captured.

As they headed up two flights of stairs, Seamus began to look uneasy. Hermione tapped him on the shoulder.

"Is everything okay, Seamus?"

Seamus shivered at her touch. "Yeah. It's just creepy, the silence. Hundreds – thousands – of insane murderers and rapists and what-have-you are in here… and you could hear a pin drop. It's strange."

"I know how you feel," Hermione whispered, "but it's better than hearing the screaming, believe me."

"At least you don't have to stay here for God knows how long," Peter muttered bitterly. "Maybe I'll go mad and be the one screaming."

"No, you won't," Hermione replied immediately. "When Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was in Azkaban for thirteen years, he stopped himself from going mad because he knew that he was innocent. You know you're here for the greater good, so you'll be fine."

"I'm not Sirius Black, Hermione. I'm Peter Strachan, Muggle-born. I'm scared, I won't deny it. Evan would have been a better person for the job than me."

"Evan, is that the other older Auror?" Hermione mused. "I have been meaning to ask all week!" She stopped herself and flushed. "Sorry. What I mean is Kingsley must have known you would be the right man for the undercover work. You're obviously very level-headed and a good actor."

"I suppose so," Peter sighed. "Hang on, _older Auror_? How old do you think Evan is?"

"Oh, um, I don't know," Hermione answered, blushing. "I just meant he was older than me…" She trailed off.

"He's the same age as me: thirty-five."

"Oh!" Hermione cried. "That's younger than I thought. I'm ever so sorry."

Peter laughed, coming to a halt as the guard did. "Don't worry."

"We are here," the guard declared.

Seamus peered in the cell, taking a step back as he saw Amycus in the dark corner of the cell.

"I need you to open the cell for us. We have a letter from the Minister of Magic himself," Hermione said confidently, getting the parchment from her robes.

"I will open the cell for you," the guard agreed.

"Thank you."

She watched as the guard made an intricate motion with his wand and whispered something – a spell or a password, perhaps – and raised her wand as the door to the cell drifted open. Amycus' eyes darted over, and Hermione could see the excitement in them.

"_Incarcerous_!" Peter shouted quickly, obviously seeing the flicker too. Ropes bound Amycus to the wall, and he struggled weakly against them, gargling noises rising from his throat.

"Good call, Pete," Seamus said, slapping the man on the back and shifting awkwardly into the cell. "Right, give me your hair, scum."

Pete sighed and delicately plucked a single hair from his head and placed it in his flask as Seamus grabbed a fistful of Amycus's hair and tugged, dumping one of them in the Polyjuice Potion in his hand.

"Here you go, give this to him and then give him the Volens potion," Peter said, handing over his flask. He took the glass tube from Seamus and took a large sip, grimacing as it travelled down his throat. "That is more disgusting than anything I've ever tasted."

"_Obduco_," Seamus said clearly, forcing the Polyjuice into Amycus's gullet. Hermione watched in fascination as the two men – one bound by ropes, the other holding tightly onto the bars of the cell – seemed to swap places; their features shifting until they were exact replicas of each other. Peter, who now looked like Amycus, looked down at himself and frowned.

"Well, don't you look lovely," Seamus snorted. "Okay, now you need to swap clothes."

Hermione blushed. "I'll stand outside with the guard so you can get changed." She looked down the corridors before stepping out, gently dragging the guard with her. She wondered why it was so empty. "Can you tell me where the rest of the guards are? I have only seen you and the guard we saw on the staircase."

"There are four guards on each floor," the guard replied obediently. "They don't always patrol the corridors like they are supposed to."

"And why is that?"

"Because there is no need."

Hermione nodded. "I can understand that. It's a good thing they think like that. Well, a good thing for us anyway!" She looked at the guard, who was swaying slightly next to her. His eyes were baring deep into hers, pleading her to let him have control of his own actions. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't, not yet. We're doing this for the good of the world, I promise." The guard said nothing. Hermione was secretly glad that the guard would soon be Obliviated, so he wouldn't remember the sensation of being controlled whilst still having all of his thoughts.

A few minutes later, Amycus, who now looked like Peter, appeared next to her with Seamus holding onto his arm tightly.

"Hermione, I don't suppose you could… you know, do that wrist-locking thing you did with Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded and silently bound her wrist to Amycus's with an invisible tether.

"So I'll see you soon, then?" Peter said from the cell. "I have the coin, and you have my wand…"

"Yep. Good luck, mate," Seamus replied. "Guard, lock his cell with the password 'Peter Strachan'."

The guard obliged, tapping his wand in another intricate pattern before repeating Seamus's words.

"Let's go," Hermione muttered, glancing around nervously. "I don't want to see another guard."

"Good plan. What if we do, though, and he wants to talk to Amycus, who looks like Peter?"

"We say he's ill, and we can tell the guard what to say."

"All right, here we go…"


	19. chapter nineteen

Draco Apparated straight into his building, dropping Harry's arm roughly as his feet hit solid ground. No one was in Emma's old seat at the desk, but Draco wasn't expecting there to be.

"Hello?" he called. A few seconds later, Malcolm poked his head out of his office, a comical frown creasing his forehead.

"Malfoy!" he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here, Baddock."

Malcolm gulped. "Yes, I am aware. But when you were taken away by the Ministry, we assumed…" he trailed off sheepishly.

"Right, well," Harry cut in, glancing between the two, "he hasn't been arrested. He's, er, working for us for a while. He's here to sort everything out before he goes."

"I will be back though," Draco assured Malcolm. "I don't know when, but I will be back."

"Right," Malcolm said uneasily. "I'll just get Emma." He disappeared back into the room, reappearing with Emma in a matter of seconds.

"Draco, what is going on?" Emma asked with an air of aggression. "First you get carted off to the Ministry, and now Malcolm tells us you're working for them! What about MTM?"

"Listen –"

"No, you listen!" Emma continued furiously. "I know the company is circling the drain, but surely there's more you can do to –"

"Emma!" Draco interrupted. "I am not shutting down the company!"

There was an awkward pause. "Oh," Emma said pathetically. "Well, it seems I have mistaken the situation yet again."

"Malfoy is just here to sort things out," Harry told her. He turned to Draco. "I'll wait here. You have forty-five minutes."

Draco nodded. "Get Whitby and meet me in my office in a moment."

He watched as they went back into the room they came out of, and then, without a word to Harry, he walked into his own office. He was just taking a seat in his chair – oh, how he had missed it – when his employees walked in in single file, their faces riddled with a look of curiosity.

"What's really going on, boss?" Kevin asked before Draco could say a word.

"Potter told you; I'm working for the Auror office for a bit, and it's going to take up all of my spare time. You won't be seeing me for a while," Draco replied lazily.

"So do we just stay at home?" Malcolm inquired sharply.

"No," Draco said simply. "You'll still be coming into work, making sure the deliveries are made, the bills are paid and, most importantly, you get the mobile phone finished and tested."

"But that could take weeks!" Emma interjected. "I mean, the amount of research we have to do, on top of running the company for you –"

"Unless you're expecting to be gone for weeks…" Kevin butted in. "What are you doing with the Aurors, boss?"

"I'm sorry, but I really cannot say. I also don't quite know how long I'll be gone, but it seems as if it'll be quite a while. Weeks, months, even."

"Blimey," Emma whistled, her face twisted into a scowl. "Months. I thought the company meant a lot to you, Draco, but obviously not." She turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind her.

Kevin and Malcolm looked uncomfortably at the floor and Draco stared at the space where she was standing in shock.

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Malcolm blurted. "She'll come around."

"I bloody hope so," Draco sighed. "I was going to ask her to be in charge of deliveries as well as being the Creative Director." He shook his head slightly and regained his focus. "Anyway, Whitby and Baddock. You two basically share tasks between you, don't you?"

"Yes, well, it's easier that way, and there are only three of us all together…" Malcolm explained quietly.

"That's fine, it's a good idea," Draco reassured him. "So you could go on with your usual jobs, but now make sure that the finances are sorted too."

"How can we do that? We don't have the Gringotts key," Kevin cut in confusedly.

"I worry about your intelligence level sometimes, Whitby," Draco snorted.

He opened the second drawer down in his desk and took out a small beige box, lifting it so Kevin and Malcom could examine it.

"In here is the company's Gringotts vault key. I will be transferring some of my own funds into the vault in a moment, that is if Potter allows me to, so I need to be quick here. The files are in the cupboard, which you know about anyway. You all need to be here between nine and five, and I shall be paying you accordingly." Draco stood up, tucking the key box into his jacket pocket. "I shall return the key when I get back from Gringotts. I'll see you… well, I guess I don't know when I'll see you."

Kevin and Malcolm nodded in unison. "Okay, Boss. I hope you achieve what it is you need to achieve with the Aurors," Kevin said kindly. "Everything will be fine here."

"I'm sure Emma will come around, too," Malcolm added hopefully.

"All right," Draco said doubtfully. "You may get back to work."

The pair left the room with a small nod, Draco following shortly after. He spotted Emma sitting next to Harry, taking part in quiet conversation.

"Emma?" Draco called tentatively. He never knew how to act around emotional women.

Emma stood up with a small smile directed at Harry. "Draco, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have walked out like that. Harry has just explained how you're only working for them to save the company from closing. I'll help out in whatever way I can."

Draco blinked, slightly taken aback at her sudden change of heart. "Well, er, thank you for seeing sense. I'd like you to take care of deliveries for me, as well as doing your usual tasks. Whitby and Baddock will fill you in on the other details."

He turned to Harry, who was sitting awkwardly between them. "Potter, I need to transfer some funds from my personal Gringotts vault to the company's vault. It shouldn't take longer than twenty minutes, so we still have enough time."

"That's fine," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly. "As long as we're back at the Ministry before the hour is up."

"We should get going." Draco smiled briefly at Emma. "You'll all be fine; I have faith in you.. I shall be back shortly to drop off the key, and then I'll be gone."

"You'll be missed, Draco," Emma said softly. "Stay safe."

Draco nodded and gestured for Harry to stand. "Come on, Potter, we haven't got all day."

Harry raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he stood. Draco reluctantly took his arm, impatiently waiting to Apparate.

"It was nice to meet you, Emma," Harry said politely.

"And you as well," Emma responded with a grin.

"Stop with the pleasantries, we have half an hour to get this money transferred, bring back the key, and return to the Ministry," Draco growled.

Harry rolled his eyes again, and then they were gone. He had transported them both to the Apparition point in Diagon Alley. Draco hastily dropped his old enemy's arm and started off towards Gringotts.

"Slow down, Malfoy!" Harry called, having to jog to keep up with Draco's long strides.

"Potter, we have hardly enough time to dawdle," Draco sneered. "It takes ten minutes just to get up to the Auror office."

"Did you just say dawdle?" Draco shot him a glare, and Harry raised his arms in defeat. "I have special permission to Apparate into the office directly, actually," he said smugly.

"Well, even so, dealing with the goblins will take ages at Gringotts," Draco huffed.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, ignoring the looks of astonishment the small crowd was giving them. Draco supposed it must have looked odd, having the famous Harry Potter running after him. Once inside the magnificent building, Draco approached the Head Goblin and told him what he needed to do.

"I'll wait here," Harry told him. "Try to be quick."

Draco nodded and followed a menacing-looking goblin with a hooked nose and bloodshot eyes into the cart that would take them to his vaults.

Harry fought the urge to wave as Draco disappeared with a large goblin.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry spun around and grinned at the woman behind him. "Good to see you again, Katie!"

Katie Bell wrapped her arms around Harry and squeezed him in earnest before holding him at arm's length and looking him up and down. "You look healthy for once."

"Last time you saw me was just after the war, Katie," Harry laughed. "I wasn't exactly at the peak of health then."

"Ah, I suppose you're right," Katie agreed, her eyes misting over. She smiled and let go of him. "So what are you here for?"

"I'm waiting for… a friend to transfer some money," Harry told her. "What about you?"

"Actually, I'm just setting up a joint vault. I got married last week in America! Completely last-minute, otherwise you and the others would have been invited." She flashed her ring, which had tiny emeralds set in a platinum band.

"Congratulations!" Harry exclaimed. "In fact, Ginny and I are engaged after her dropping a hint every week for three years. The wedding is in April of next year."

"Oh, I'm so happy for you!" Katie squeaked. "I bumped into Neville Longbottom yesterday; he and Luna will be married in a few weeks as well. What about Ron and Hermione? I would have thought they would have gotten married straight after the war!"

"Er, no, they're not engaged yet. Still together, though," Harry replied uneasily. "I think Hermione wants to focus on her career before she settles down properly."

"Ah, I see," Katie said, nodding as if she understood. _Well, at least that's someone_, Harry thought, _I certainly don't understand their relationship anymore_.

"I must dash, Harry, that's my husband now," Katie rushed, pointing to an Italian-looking man by the door. "Poor thing hardly knows a word of English, so I'd better look after him. It was nice to see you again, we must catch up soon." With that, she dashed off to greet her partner.

"And you!" Harry called after her.

Draco returned ten minutes later, a stony expression on his face. "Let's go, Potter."

"Back to your office then?" Harry suggested.

"Yes, that's what I said earlier."

Harry raised his eyebrows but didn't ask why Draco was in an even fouler mood than he had been before. Instead, he walked a few paces behind him as they returned to the Apparition point, once again ignoring the loud whispers that followed them.

Draco gripped Harry's elbow rather aggressively, but Harry didn't dare question it. He had been at the receiving end of Draco's temper more than once at Hogwarts and knew that if a Malfoy was in a mood, it was best to stay out of his way.

Harry waited outside the MTM offices as Draco dropped the key off, figuring he needed his space.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to see Emma drifting towards him, her arms folded across her chest.

"I know you can't tell me anything about what you're doing, but is it… safe?" she whispered, biting her lip nervously.

Harry frowned slightly. Did Emma care about Draco's safety? He couldn't imagine him being a pleasant boss to work for.

"Well, I guess safe is the wrong word," Emma said hastily. "What I mean is, will he… return unscathed?"

Harry exhaled slowly. "I hope so, Emma. For all our sakes."


	20. chapter twenty

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in uploading, guys. My beta, Lissie, had too many work commitments and so couldn't beta anymore, so I had to search for another one for a while. I have found a lovely new beta: katniss-duchannes on tumblr. Thank you! Chapter 21 and 22 should be up shortly as they have already been written. Hope you like it!**

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After Obliviating the guard, Hermione and the others walked quickly and quietly through Azkaban, spontaneously taking the long way around the prison's edges when they saw a guard at the top of the staircase they had taken before. Amycus, disguised as Peter, walked obediently with the group, still handcuffed to Hermione's wrist. She was walking rather quickly in order to get to the travelling room faster - she wanted to get the Death Eater unattached from her as soon as possible.

"Almost there," she said to herself. She glanced sideways at Amycus. He looked identical to Peter, down to the clothes, but something in his eyes was wrong. She wondered if anyone who didn't know about the swap would be able to tell that the man beside her wasn't Peter Strachan. She certainly hadn't realised Professor Moody was actually Barty Crouch Junior all those years ago. She shuddered at the memory.

As they reached the door that led to the offices and travelling room, Seamus tapped Hermione on the shoulder and leant in closer.

"Can we just… leave?" he whispered, his eyes darting around the corridor, looking for guards.

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered back.

"Don't they have wards that record any Apparition that takes place?"

"Yes, but it only records when the Apparition takes place, and how many people it involves. They won't be able to detect Peter – Amycus. If we hadn't left Peter in Amycus's place it would be a different story."

Seamus nodded and stepped back as Hermione opened the door slowly and peered around the sides. With no one in sight, she bravely took a few steps beyond the threshold and found the corridor that led to the travelling room itself. Feeling Seamus close behind her, she slowed down and steadied her nervous breathing. She was almost there; she could see the room –

"Excuse me!"

Hermione froze. Slowly, she and the others turned around to see an elderly guard with a gut the size of a small country holding a lit wand. In his left hand was the sign-in book.

"You need to sign this. You forgot."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, sorry, yes, we must have forgotten when we went to, um, see a prisoner about, erm, Ministry matters."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, the guard that escorted us up seemed a bit dazed. Maybe he needs a day off."

Hermione squinted to look closer at the guard in front of him. "Henry Tapper," she murmured.

"What was that?" the guard asked quickly. "How do you know my name?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, we borrowed the employee files for, er, well, Ministry purposes, and I remember your face." That was true, Hermione did remember his face. He was the sixty-nine-year-old man whose file looked practically new, yet was one of the oldest files on record.

"Oh, right. Well, you just need to sign this. It's for security, you see. That means if we find anything wrong, we know who was in the prison when it happened."

Seamus and Hermione exchanged wary glances.

"Okay," Hermione said. "I'll sign it." She started to walk back up the corridor, forgetting about Amycus being tied to her wrist. He was pulled along with her, stumbling slightly under the potion's effects. "Erm, come with me and act normally," Hermione whispered to Amycus.

Amycus nodded slowly and obeyed.

Hermione hurriedly filled in the form and signed the parchment before handing it back to Henry. She was about to turn and join Seamus when she frowned. Henry Tapper was described as being forgetful in his file, yet he had remembered the sign-in book and the previous Ministry visit clearly.

"Mr. Tapper, can I ask you something?" she queried timidly.

"Ask away, young lady!" Henry beamed.

Hermione paused for a moment. "I just wanted to know – I mean, I saw in your file – why you're taking voluntary retirement shortly? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, I was just wondering…?"

Henry's smile drooped and he tightened his grip on the guestbook.

"I have been forgetting a lot recently. Big days, sometimes. My family have said I've been… wandering. Not coming home until very late. The Healer's tell me it's my old age; my mind's going, they said."

Hermione's frown knitted tighter. "Can you give me an example of what type of things you've missed?"

"Well, some of the other guards ask me things about something I've done at work, yet I can't remember even going in that day. But I must have done, I remember leaving in the morning and coming home at night. Just not the bits in between…" Henry told her, shaking his head.

"Maybe retirement is the best option, then. When do you plan on leaving?" Hermione inquired politely.

"In a few days, actually. I thought I had more work in me, but obviously not," Henry sighed.

"I see...Well, I wish you all the best, Henry. I hope you enjoy your retirement," Hermione said after an awkward silence.

Henry looked up. "Thank you, you're very kind."

Hermione smiled and nodded before turning back around and walking towards the travelling room once again, dragging Amycus behind her. When she reached Seamus, he raised his eyebrows in question.

"What?" Hermione said innocently.

"You know what. Having a love-in with grandpa over there," Seamus muttered.

"I'll tell you when we get back to the Ministry," Hermione whispered back. She gave Amycus a tug with the restraint. "I can't wait to have him locked up again."

"Me neither," Seamus replied uneasily. "I just hope everything goes to plan."

"Me too."

They had reached the travelling room, so Seamus removed the return Portkey (a cracked green keyring) from his pocket, wrapped it with a handkerchief and glanced at Hermione.

"I want you to place your finger on this keyring three seconds after it turns blue," Hermione demanded Amycus, who nodded again.

Seamus tapped the Portkey with his wand. It glowed a bright blue, and the three of them placed their fingers on it after an internal count to three.

Queasily, they landed back in the planning room, stumbling slightly as they hurried towards the door.

"Amycus, keep following me," Hermione rushed. "Stay quiet unless someone asks you a question."

Amycus nodded yet again, irritating Hermione more than she could say.

"And stop nodding! From now on, if you understand what I say, don't do anything. The only time you need to respond is if someone asks you a direct question."

Before waiting for a response, Seamus opened the door and walked straight into Harry.

"Oh! Sorry, Harry," he apologised. "I wasn't expecting you back yet. It hasn't been an hour yet."

"Yeah, Malfoy was surprisingly punctual," Harry sighed. "I was just coming in here to wait for you, actually. Everything go okay?"

"Yes, everything went perfectly," Hermione chimed in. "Hardly any guards around, which was a good thing for us, I suppose."

"Good, good," Harry replied. "Right. Let's get Carrow in the holding cell."

Hermione nodded and the group headed out of the planning room and towards the cells.

Once Amycus had been locked away and the Aurors were back in the meeting room, Kingsley strode through the door with Arthur closely behind him.

"Has everything been taken care of?" the Minister asked, looking at Harry.

"Yes. Malfoy has sorted things out, and Carrow is in the holding cell. The Polyjuice will wear off in about half an hour," Harry told him.

"Good," Kingsley said. "I'd like you to interrogate him. Malfoy, you can assist him in the interrogation."

A stunned silence filled the room.

"Malfoy, sir?" Harry questioned nervously.

"Perhaps you need your hearing tested. Malfoy is new to this side of the law, therefore he needs to practice interrogation, or at least watch others do the interrogating."

Draco gritted his teeth. "You make me sound like I was a Death Eater until you recruited me."

"There's no time for this. If we're all done here…?"

Hermione quickly stood up. "Actually, I have something to add. It's about one of the guards in Azkaban."

"Is this the guard whose file you picked out as being suspicious?" Arthur asked with a frown.

"Yes, Henry Tapper," Hermione affirmed. "We, er, bumped into him at Azkaban. I believe he is under – or has been under – the Imperius curse."

"How do you know?" Jacob asked sharply.

"Well, there are large gaps in his memory, mostly when he's been to work. He's also taking voluntary retirement in a few days. I know he's old, but it doesn't seem right. It's all too coincidental."

Kingsley narrowed his eyes. "What kind of guard is he? What access does he have within the prison?"

Hermione swallowed and cast her mind back. "According to his file, he's one of the head guards. He's allowed unlimited access to every floor, and he's the one who goes into cells to check for any Muggle items that wouldn't have been picked up by charms."

"Therefore it would be easy for him to cast unbreakable vows, or help with the escape in any way," Draco added.

Hermione turned to look at him, surprised that he had made a contribution. "Exactly. It also means that whoever is controlling him can have access to the cells too, as he could just get the guard to open the door. That must be how he's doing it. It's rather simple really, if you think about it."

"The only flaw with that theory, Hermione, is that we've put charms in place that detect the Imperius curse, and we haven't detected anything," Arthur replied.

"Just before we left, I checked what enchantments were on the prison," Hermione answered. "It didn't pick up anything except the anti-Apparition wards. Nothing else. Someone has been tampering."

"I didn't know there was a spell that could pick up specific charms," Seamus wondered aloud.

Draco snorted. "Actually, my company makes a device that originated from Muggle technology. You just have to charm it the right way, and it detects any wards, potions, and enchantments in the area."

"Wait, your company made this?" Hermione stared at Draco, who shrugged and nodded. "It's… well, it's brilliant. Nothing like it has been made before. When I was working with Law Enforcement, we used it all the time. It came in handy when we –"

"All right, Hermione," Harry interrupted. Hermione sat down again. "We have two choices. Either we can bring Mr Tapper in now and question him, or we wait until the escape takes place and confront him then. If he's taking voluntary retirement, whether it's actually voluntary or not, we should be able to bring him in without them noticing."

"I think we should wait until they've escaped," the older Auror chimed in. "Peter can then tell us if they're planning to use Henry for anything else, before we bring him in."

"Good point, Marcus."

"So, we've decided that we'll bring Henry Tapper in after the escape?" Kingsley asked the room. His question was answered with nods and agreeing murmurs. "Right, we discussed the strategy of the plan yesterday. Are we all clear on everything?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, nodding enthusiastically. "Peter finds out all he can, recruits Draco, and then they bring it down when they have all the information."

"Yes, that's about it," Harry confirmed. "We'll be planning the next move back here whilst it's going on. We've cast a tracking spell, so we know where you are… and obviously we have the coins and the safe house of course."

"Speaking of the safe house, we never actually discussed who will be staying there," Dean pointed out.

"Yes, it seems we were distracted," Arthur agreed awkwardly. "Well, Kingsley, Harry and I have discussed this in detail, and we have decided that Hermione and Seamus will be taking it in turns to stay there. Dean will be the back-up."

Hermione simply nodded, ignoring the part of her brain that was inwardly groaning at the fact that she'd have to talk to Draco for a considerable length of time every day.

Seamus grinned and nudged Dean, who looked a bit put out.

"That leaves Marcus, Jacob, and Harry here to plan at the Ministry," Arthur continued, "as well as myself and the Minister, of course. Hermione and Seamus will tell us all that they know when they aren't at the safe house."

"Sounds like you're doing things the hard way," Draco commented. "Why not just talk via the Floo network?"

"The safe house is safe for a reason. There are no fireplaces linked to the Floo network, anti-Apparition wards, etcetera. You have to walk one hundred metres away from the house before the wards end," Jacob told him with a sigh. "It means communication has to be done the old fashioned way."

"Not necessarily," Draco said, a small smile growing on his lips. "I have an idea."


	21. chapter twenty-one

**A/N quick update, huh?! thought i'd upload this one sooner rather than later as there was such a large gap between 19 and 20. please read and review! getting a lot of readers but no reviewers. if you've been following me on tumblr, you'll know that i am considering deleting my fics, so some support would be great, otherwise i'm going to assume no one cares... anyway. enjoy! thank you to my new beta reader, katniss-duchannes on tumblr!**

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Emma was surprised to see her boss back so soon after the morning's events. After a fast-forwarded brainstorm of ideas, she had been coerced into having a working prototype of the wizarding mobile phone ready in two days, but she had absolutely no idea as to why she was being made to create it so quickly, or for what purpose. She had also been asked to keep it quiet – no one but her, Malcolm, and Kevin were permitted to know anything about the new product. Being the obedient employee that she was, she had agreed to all of the conditions, and set to work on it straight away. Draco promised her that he or Harry would be back on Friday evening.

She was also glad that she no longer felt the need to become a clumsy, blushing schoolgirl whilst around him. After seeing Draco at his worst – those two days of interviews really were awful – she had sorted out her feelings and now felt loving protection for him, rather than embarrassing infatuation. She just wanted him to return safe and sound from whatever he was doing with the Ministry. Of course, she wasn't stupid; she knew that he was doing some kind of undercover work for them. Draco had told her that a large amount of money had gone missing from his Gringotts vault; almost two hundred thousand galleons in total. Emma guessed that he was helping to track the criminals behind it. And he was actually running low on money for the first time in his life! It felt nice to see Draco working for the right people for once. Working for the Death Eaters, whether involuntarily or not, was not the best start to his adult life, and working for himself wasn't much better. Now he could earn his money back or at least find the people responsible for stealing it in the first place.

"I know it's not actually finished yet, but it would be a great way to communicate," Draco told the Minister. "It'll be undetectable, as it uses partly Muggle technology, and it means Granger and Seamus can talk to you instantaneously, instead of you all having to wait until the end of a shift for information."

Kingsley sighed. "It is a good idea, Malfoy, but you haven't even started production yet."

"I have faith in my team. I know they can do this quickly."

"I suppose I will have to trust you," Kingsley replied, standing up from his seat. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting with the French Minister for Magic about the possible Triwizard tournament. I know you will be visiting the safe house tomorrow to prepare, so make sure everything's in order. Keep your coins on you at all times. Understood?"

"Understood," Hermione said unnecessarily. Draco looked at her with disgust. She had always been a teacher's pet at Hogwarts, and now she was sucking up to her boss. Some things never changed.

As Draco was preparing to leave the room, Harry caught hold of his arm.

"What is it, Potter? It's lunchtime."

"Come into my office for a second."

Draco sighed but complied, following Harry into his relatively large office. "If this is about me _getting along with Granger_ again, I –"

"No, it's not," Harry interrupted. "This is about your undercover work. I need to make sure you can… defend yourself against attempts to access your mind." He sat down and gestured that Draco do the same.

"Potter, you know I'm a skilled Occlumens," Draco said carefully, sitting in the chair in front of Harry's desk.

"Yes, but you're probably out of practice. Well, at least I hope you are."

"I hear it's like riding a broom. You never forget."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So, can I…?"

"Go ahead. I'll block you out easily."

"_Leglimens_."

Draco felt Harry attempting to delve into his mind. _You'll have to do better than that, Potter._

_It's like trying to break into Gringotts in here, _Harry's voice echoed in Draco's head. _Although, I have done that once._

Draco focused harder and, after just a few seconds, closed his mind completely. He smiled smugly at Harry's defeat, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.

"Well, I have no doubt that your mind is impenetrable. You certainly did better than I did when Snape attempted Leglimency on me," Harry told him quietly. "Although, I have heard that Occlumency is easier when you're devoid of emotion."

"I am _not_devoid of emotion, Potter," Draco growled. "In fact, I'm feeling pretty pissed –"

"Less of that, please," Harry cut in. "Okay, you're free to go to lunch. I think everyone is going to Broomstix in Diagon Alley; you're welcome to join us."

"I'd rather eat my own eyeballs."

"Thought so," Harry muttered.

Once inside the cosy Broomstix, Hermione and the others sat down on an small oval table, moving their chairs around to accommodate all six of them.

"What's everyone drinking?" Harry asked. "I'll get this round."

"Butterbeer, please!" Seamus called. His request was repeated by everyone except Marcus, who asked for a firewhiskey.

"Hermione, could you help me with these?" Harry asked politely. Hermione nodded and stepped over Dean to join Harry at the bar.

"Couldn't you have just levitated them, Harry? Or are you scared you'll drop them again, like you did that time in The Three Broomsticks?" Hermione chuckled.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you in private for a second," Harry said quietly. "I know you weren't given a choice about staying in the safehouse but –"

"Harry, it's fine," Hermione interrupted. "This is bigger than any problems Malfoy and I have, it's bigger than all of us. It's something I'll have to live with for a while. It's not as if I'll be living with him forever."

Harry studied her expression. "You'll have to talk to him. A lot."

"Yes, I know," Hermione sighed. "But as long as he keeps a civil tongue I can manage."

Soon they were all sat down with their drinks in front of them, sipping quietly. Seamus was the first to break the silence.

"So, do we have to go back to work tomorrow?"

"I do," Harry answered glumly. "But the rest of you don't. Any other Auror work will be dealt with by the Law Enforcers. I've owled Ron to let him know. Just make sure you have your coins on you."

"So that means we could have a few days off?" Dean asked gleefully. "Brilliant!"

"If I were you, I'd be practicing Falspells," Marcus commented, "ready for the escape."

"Falspells?" Dean questioned, frowning deeply.

"Yeah!" When he was met with blank looks, Marcus huffed and took a sip of his firewhiskey before replying. "It's a group of spells that sound almost exactly like the real things, but don't actually do anything. That way, when we go to Azkaban to stop the escape, it won't look like we're letting them go."

"Can you teach us?" Hermione asked sharply. She had heard of Falspells, of course, but had never needed to use them. Marcus was right – they would come in useful.

"I'm not much of a teacher," Marcus grumbled.

"Neither was I until I gave it a go," Harry told him. Hermione, Seamus, and Dean nodded in agreement.

"All right. Meet me at the Ministry tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. We can use one of the training rooms. I'm not promising you'll learn anything though."

Once back at the house – for she could not call it a home just yet – Hermione phoned her parents with the mobile phone they had got her for Christmas. Hermione's mother, Jean, answered after the third ring.

"Hermione! Darling, how are you?"

"I'm okay, mum. I know I haven't called you in a while –" Hermione started.

"It's been over a week, Hermione," Jean scolded. "We've been worried about you."

"I'm sorry, but I've been rather busy. I lost my job at the Ministry."

Jean made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. "Oh, darling."

"It's all right, I was given a new one… as an Auror." Although this wasn't technically true, it was the easiest way to explain the situation. Hermione had explained an Auror's job to her parents before, so at least she knew they would understand, albeit very slightly.

"Isn't that dangerous, sweetie?" Jean asked concernedly. "I thought you were settled in your office!"

"It's fine, mum, honestly," Hermione sighed. "But I'm going for, um, a training exercise soon, so I'll be away for a few weeks."

"What sort of _training exercise_ causes one to be away for multiple weeks at a time?"

"The sort that I couldn't possibly tell you about," Hermione said carefully. "It's Auror training, it's different. But my party is still going ahead as planned on Saturday, hopefully."

"Oh, fabulous!" Jean exclaimed into the phone. "What are you going to be wearing?"

Hermione sighed again. "I don't know; whatever is in my wardrobe I suppose."

Jean gasped. "But Hermione, dear, it's your twenty-fourth birthday! You need something pretty to wear. Let me take you shopping on Saturday morning."

Hermione desperately tried to think of an excuse. "Oh no, that's fine, um, I'll go on Friday…"

"Friday is perfect for me! Now I work part-time at the Dentistry I get Friday's off," Jean told her daughter happily. "Come to the house at eleven o'clock and we can go shopping in the mall that has just opened in town."

"I was going to wear my robes, actually," Hermione replied uneasily. Her mother accepted her 'specialness', as she called it, but she didn't understand why Hermione couldn't wear Muggle clothes and have a relatively Muggle life. "But we could go shopping in Diagon Alley if you'd like."

"I'd rather go to a _normal_ shopping centre," Jean said primly. "Robes always look so… scruffy."

Ten minutes later, Hermione had agreed to visit the Muggle shopping mall with her mother on that Friday in search for a suitable dress to wear to her birthday gathering. She secretly hoped she couldn't find anything so she could wear her robes like everyone else would be, aside from her parents. The Grangers had met Harry and the Weasleys a few times before, but she didn't know how they would cope with a garden-full of witches and wizards at once. It was all very tiring, especially when her father asked her about when she was planning on providing grandchildren, and whether they'd be magical or 'normal'. Hermione feigned a visitor at the door and hung up as quickly as she could. Collapsing on the sofa in a sudden rush of exhaustion, Hermione decided to close her eyes for five minutes and then get on with researching Falspells ready for the next day's lesson.

Hermione finally awoke to Ron smiling dopily at her. If Ron was home that meant she had slept for close to four hours.

"Hello sleepyhead," Ron greeted her. "How long have you been here for?"

"I finished at midday," Hermione replied, stretching like a cat and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "I was only going to close my eyes for a few minutes."

"It's fine. Shall I cook dinner?" Ron asked, walking over to the kitchen.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm home so early?" Hermione answered indignantly. "I'm usually late home."

"Harry owled me earlier about something, and he said you were done in the Auror office for the day."

"Oh."

"He wouldn't tell me what was going on there, which is weird. Have you got a mission or something?"

"Or something," Hermione said quietly. She knew she wasn't allowed to tell Ron any details about the task that lay ahead, only that she would be away for a while. She hadn't broached the subject with him just yet, and thought it could wait at least another day.

"As long as it doesn't affect your birthday on Saturday!" Ron was retrieving pasta out of the cupboard, magically filling a pan of water as he did so. "Do you know what the veg-chopping spell is? I've forgotten."

"Let me do that for you, Ronald," Hermione said, getting up from the sofa. "Last time you tried to cook you ended up singing your eyebrows off."

"Yeah, but we still got a good meal out of it, didn't we?" he said, grinning as he passed the pasta over to his girlfriend of five years.

"If you could call it a meal," Hermione joked. She non-verbally summoned the vegetables and placed them on the counter. "_Sectar Equalis_." The vegetables started slicing themselves as if they were being cut with an invisible knife.

"You always know what to do," Ron said fondly, watching her as she cooked. "I'd be hopeless without you."

"No you wouldn't!" Hermione defended. "You'd manage fine. You'd just need to experiment a bit."

"I'd probably blow the house up."

Hermione laughed. "Most likely. But you'd get there in the end, and that's the main thing."

"I don't want to imagine my life without you, Hermione."

Hermione didn't reply.


	22. chapter twenty-two

Draco attempted to Floo to the Manor at precisely nine o'clock on Thursday morning, but instead was left standing awkwardly in his fireplace. Realising that his mother – or, more likely, the house elves – had probably forgotten to enable the Floo network, he Apparated just outside the gates. He tapped them with his wand, expecting the metal to turn temporarily translucent, but they remained solid metal, leaving Draco standing awkwardly for the second time in five minutes. Maybe his mother had gone to visit a friend or had gone shopping, and had also dismissed the house elves. Draco growled at the slim chances of it happening and pressed the button that he had personally installed the previous year. It originated from a Muggle invention called an intercom, but had been modified so that the owner could leave a message for the visitor to listen to if needed. After five seconds, a projection of Narcissa was visible in front of the gates. It unnerved Draco with its ghost-like appearance.

"Hello," the projection said. "I am afraid that I am in Paris at the moment on an indefinite holiday. Any urgent matters can be owled to me. The house elves are with me."

The projection disappeared and Draco frowned. So, his mother had gone to Paris without telling him first? He knew that he had told her to go, but he was expecting her to let him know when she was going. He remembered a time when it happened frequently; his parents leaving him abruptly and placing him in the care of the nanny who used to steal the silverware or in the (often incapable) hands of the house elves. Grumbling under his breath, he walked a few steps away from the gate and Apparated back to his flat before grabbing some parchment and a pen.

_Mother,_

_ First of all, why did you think it was acceptable to _not_ tell me that you were planning to go to France? I know I am a grown man, but I still expect to be told if my mother is leaving the country indefinitely. _

_Second of all, I'm also going to be away for a while on work business. Don't bother asking about it, I can't tell you. _

_I'll see you soon,_

_Draco_

Draco watched his owl fly off into the distance with the letter before making himself some coffee and relaxing with the day's _Daily Prophet. _Fifteen minutes later, he had thrown the paper into the fire and had decided to go to the Ministry earlier than he had originally planned to. He Flooed into the busy atrium, dodging the workers that were crowding him as he made his way to the Auror Office. He didn't know what he was going to do for the half an hour he would be waiting, but he suspected Harry would be there, willing to put on a friendly face and pretend to like him. It wasn't that he hated Harry like he had at Hogwarts, but he wasn't ready to be his friend and invite him out for a pint.

As he was entering the lift, he noticed Justin Finch Fletchley hovering at the back, holding onto a handle. Draco nodded at him awkwardly and waited for the lift to move. A second later, he felt a poke on his shoulder. He turned to face Justin.

"What is it?" Draco asked irritably.

"Did you ever manage to find Hermione?" Justin queried. He looked petrified, and Draco wondered why he was bothering to ask. "You know, that day when you were looking for her."

"Oh, er, yeah," Draco answered. "Thanks."

"What department is she in?" Justin pressed.

"She's in the Auror Office."

"An Auror?" Justin whistled. "I thought she'd given up the whole law-enforcing thing. Obviously not!"

"It's temporary," Draco explained impatiently. "And she wasn't really given much of a choice. It was either work for the Aurors or not work at all."

"Ah, yes, that makes sense," Justin said thoughtfully. "I suppose Harry got her in."

"I believe so," Draco affirmed. He suddenly realised that the man who was operating the lifts last time had disappeared. "Where's the lift guy?"

Justin frowned. "Lift guy?"

"Yeah, the one that asks you where you want to go. I assumed it was a new thing."

"I've never seen one before," Justin told Draco, looking weirdly at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Draco snapped. "It was only me and him in the lift; he asked me what department I needed, and then the lift took me straight there instead of going to each department in turn. He was wearing uniform."

"Well, I use these lifts every day and I have never seen this mysterious lift man," Justin said. "But the lifts always take you directly where you need to go if it's just you in them."

Draco mirrored Justin's frown but didn't say anything else.

"Well, this is my department," Justin said after a few seconds. "I'll see you around."

"I doubt it," Draco muttered.

When he arrived at the Auror section of the department, Draco decided to wait in the small staffroom that was situated at the end of the corridor. He had never been in there, but it had been pointed out two days previously by Harry, who had said that it was hardly ever used. As he pushed open the door, he was blasted with the strong stench of something burning. Perhaps Seamus had blown something up again and had hidden it in there.

Draco removed his wand from his robes and swept it across the room. "_Facere Recentes_." The acrid smoke vanished and was replaced by clean, fresh air. He replaced his wand and took a seat on one of the ugly brown sofas, surprised to find that it was actually rather comfortable. He looked around the room, his eyes falling on a selection of magazines on the coffee table in front of him. Sighing resignedly, he picked up three old copies of _Witch Weekly_ and began to read.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still reading.

"Enjoying the article on S_pells To Please Your Man_?"

Draco yelped in surprise, throwing the magazine across the room and jumping up to face the speaker. "Granger?"

"I find that magazine quite sexist sometimes. They don't have any spells to please the woman herself, only her _man_!" Hermione told him, hanging her bag and coat on one of the hooks beside the door.

"I don't want to know what you get up to in your spare time," Draco retorted, wrinkling up his nose in disgust.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed in horror. "Oh no, I'm not saying that I wanted to know the spells or anything…"

"Of course," Draco said sarcastically, smirking at Hermione's fluster.

"What are you doing here so early, anyway?"

"I needed to see someone about MTM at nine," Draco lied. "So I thought I'd come here early, instead of going home and coming back again."

Hermione nodded. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, everything's fine."

"Good."

There was an awkward pause where they stood facing each other, neither of them knowing what to say.

"So," they both said together.

"You first," Hermione offered.

Draco fidgeted. "I was just going to ask if you had thought about the safehouse situation at all."

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth formed a small but perfect 'O'. "Yes. Harry and I talked yesterday in Broomstix, actually. As I said before, I am fully committed to the mission and won't let any tension between us jeopardise it."

"_Tension_?" Draco would have spat out his drink if he had been sipping one.

"You know what I mean, Malfoy," Hermione said sternly, with a look to rival McGonagall's. "I told you I wanted to be civil with you."

"Actually, I think your exact words were 'I think we should agree to _not get along'_."

"Well," Hermione huffed. "Same thing, really."

Draco smirked. "Okay, whatever. I can be… civil." He walked past Hermione and into the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called after him.

"To the office, Granger. It's cramped in there," Draco replied without turning around.

Hermione sighed and went after him, making sure she was at least a metre behind him at all times. As they reached the office door, she watched in amusement as Draco attempted to open it – once manually and once with _Alohomora._ After his third attempt at forcing the door open, he turned to face Hermione.

"Why isn't it opening?" he asked angrily. "Did you do something?"

"No one is in there yet," Hermione told him calmly, biting her cheeks in order to stop herself from laughing.

"I know that!" Draco said through gritted teeth. "But why isn't it opening?"

"Do you really think Kingsley would let _anyone_ in?" Hermione replied, smirking at Draco's frustration. "There's a password if you're not senior."

"Well, what is the password?" Draco demanded.

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know!" Hermione repeated, holding her hands out like she was trying to prove her innocence.

Draco stared at her for a while, his hand still on the door handle. "You don't know," he repeated slowly.

"No," Hermione sighed. "Only Kingsley, Harry, Arthur and Marcus know the password. The rest of us have to wait for them to get here to open it for us. But once it's been unlocked it isn't locked with a password again until they say so."

"Oh, that's just brilliant," Draco groaned. "Fifteen minutes of standing around."

"You were the one who got here early," Hermione pointed out. "I would have been happy to sit in the staffroom for a while."

"Go right ahead, I'm not stopping you!"

Hermione sighed again and rolled her eyes. "Wait, I'll memo Harry. He'll let us in."

"But he's not here yet," Draco said as if he was speaking to a child. "It'll take him ten minutes to get through the Atrium –"

"He's in the building already, stupid," Hermione interrupted.

"Did you just call me stupid?" Draco asked as Hermione wrote a quick note on a piece of parchment she had found in her pocket. "How dare you –"

"Shut up, Malfoy. It's too early for arguing."

Draco's mouth closed abruptly. He watched in silence as Hermione folded the parchment into a point and gently pushed it into the air.

"He'll be here in five minutes, tops," Hermione told him. "Until then you can tell me about how you're expecting to finish the telephone so quickly."

Draco looked at her. "Why are you so interested in my company?"

Hermione swallowed. "I told you, I think what you – your company – does is remarkable. I've always thought the wizarding world is quite behind in terms of technology. Obviously, as we don't use electricity, we're limited in what we can use, but there must be a charm which could be created that does the same sort of thing. But you… you're blurring the divide between Muggles and wizards by creating these products and integrating them with our lives. It's fantastic." Hermione didn't dare catch Draco's eye, for she knew she would blush. She didn't think she'd ever paid him a compliment before and she wasn't sure if she wanted to see his reaction.

"No one has ever believed in the company as much as you, not even my own employees."

Hermione quickly looked up. "Well, you know what I'm like," she said, blushing furiously.

"I need to tell you something," Draco said after a moment. "I know I called you – well, you know what – the other day, but it was because of old habits. It's nothing against you or Muggle-borns in general. It was just you being irritating, it brought back memories. I apologise."

"Thank you," Hermione said, surprised to hear an apology come out of Draco's mouth.

"So, back in the staffroom… what were you going to say?" Draco asked after clearing his throat.

"Oh, I was just going to ask –"

A crack of Apparition startled the pair.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You frightened me!"

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said, smiling warmly at her. "I got your memo."

"How come you can Apparate within the Ministry's walls?" Draco asked. "Whenever I try, it doesn't let me."

"I've always been a bit special, though," Harry said smugly.

Draco didn't say anything, just scowled.

"He's joking, Malfoy," Hermione explained with a grin directed at Harry. "Senior members of the Ministry can Apparate wherever they want in the Ministry."

"Whatever."

"You need to lighten up, mate," Harry told him. "Maybe then people would like you more."

"People do like me, Potter," Draco growled. "And I am not your mate."

"As you wish." Harry shrugged. "But that kind of attitude won't get the Auror office on your side."

Harry muttered the password and opened the office door for the pair. "Here you go. Don't murder each other while I go and sort things out quickly. I'll be ten minutes. The others might be here soon."

Hermione smiled as Harry Apparated away.

"Come on, Granger," Draco said, heading through the door. "No use staring at empty space."

Hermione tutted but followed him into the room, flicking her wand at the lights to turn them on as she did so.

"So," Draco started when they had sat themselves down at the table. "What were you saying?"

"Oh, um…" Hermione trailed off. "It's nothing, you probably wouldn't be interested and – "

"Granger."

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "I was going to ask if you were coming to my birthday party on Saturday."

Draco was taken aback. "Really?"

"Yes, I mean, we're working together now, and I invited everyone, so…"

"I'll think about it."

* * *

**A/N did you like the dramione action? okay, so not action, just some apologies and a little bit of a compliment. some foreshadowing in there of things to come. maybe have a guess at what?**

**many thanks to my beta, katniss-duchannes on tumblr!**


	23. chapter twenty-three

**a/n: nearly at the exciting part, folks. only a chapter or two... anyway, hope you enjoy this one. please review! thanks to my beta, katniss-duchannes on tumblr xxx**

* * *

Draco didn't know what was going on. All that had happened was he and Hermione had exchanged pleasantries and then she had told him about why she liked Muggle to Magic so much. Why did he then feel the need to have a heart-to-heart with her about calling her Mudblood? Were they _friends_?

He shook his head. They were simply being civil, that was it.

After their discussion, they had waited impatiently inside the office, pretending to be busying themselves with parchment so they didn't have to talk to each other. After around five minutes of avoiding each other's gaze, Seamus and Dean strolled in together, closely followed by Marcus and Jacob.

"So," Marcus said gruffly. "Are we ready for this, then?"

"Yes!" Hermione answered gleefully.

"I suppose so," Draco muttered. He had never practiced Falspells before, but he had read about them in a book he had borrowed at Hogwarts. Now that he thought about it, he _had_ seen Hermione read the same book back in their fourth or fifth year. He had spotted her in the library, reading as usual, and had liked the look of the book she was flicking through. He had then walked up to her, insulted her and laughed when she had flounced off, leaving the book on the desk. Merlin, he had been a git back then.

The group followed Marcus into the smallest training room, which was still quite large and had soft springy floors and walls. Marcus waved his wand over the room, muttering spells under his breath. To Draco's surprise, trapdoors in the floor slowly opened and black mannequins with targets on their abdomens were silently raised out of them, brandishing wands.

"Now," Marcus started. "I'm sure that you five have been reading up on Falspells prior to this morning to make sure you don't look like idiot in front of the rest of the class."

Draco smirked as Hermione nodded enthusiastically and Dean shook his head nervously.

"Anyway, Falspells are spells that sound almost the same as the real spell. For example…" Marcus pointed his wand at one of the mannequins. "_Avada Kedarva_!"

The mannequin twisted around twice and fell onto its back.

"Did you just… _kill_ a dummy?" Seamus said disbelievingly.

"No," Marcus answered. "Look."

The group watched the mannequin lifted itself up from the floor and got back into position.

"I don't get it," Dean said bluntly, folding his arms across his chest.

Hermione tutted. "Honestly, didn't you listen? He didn't say _Kedavra, _he said _Kedarva_!"

Draco had a strong sense of déjà vu from his Hogwarts days.

"Hermione is right," Marcus said. "Just a simple change in the letter ordering of a spell can modify its function. There are only five Falspells. There's _Avada Kedarva, Stubefy, Expelliarnus, Confunto _and _Imbedimenta. _When these spells are used, they knock the recipient back but don't cause any harm."

"Have you ever used one on a real person before?" Dean asked in awe.

"On a few occasions, yes. And I have had _Avada Kedarva_ used on me." Marcus glanced at Draco. "Lucius Malfoy, during the battle of Hogwarts. He was on his way to Voldemort and I got in his way. He disarmed me and I was ready to die but he… spared me. I'll never know why."

The Aurors stared at Draco.

"What?" Draco spat bitterly. "It was my father, not me. How should I know?"

"Lucius _did _change his allegiance at the end of the war," Hermione said helpfully. "Maybe he didn't want to hurt anyone else."

Seamus, Dean and Jacob exchanged looks. "He knew his side was losing, more like it," Dean mumbled. "He didn't want to get in even more trouble."

"Honestly, Dean. It was a long time ago. Lucius is in Azkaban, what more do you want?"

Dean shrugged and turned to Draco. "Sorry, Malfoy, I've got nothing against you," he said apologetically. Draco said nothing.

"If you've quite finished?" Marcus cut in. "There's more than enough for a mannequin each. Practice for five minutes and then split into pairs and have a go against each other."

"What if we accidentally use the real thing?" Hermione asked nervously.

"I doubt anyone has the motivation to use _Avada_ and the other four don't cause lasting damage," Marcus explained quickly. "Off you go. The mannequins will try and shield themselves, but some of them… well, they're a bit slow."

The group dispersed, each of them picking a mannequin carefully. The ones that were less dilapidated would probably have quicker reactions, so these were avoided. Draco went to the far corner of the room and immediately started firing spells at the mannequin; both Falspells and a selection of curses that he hadn't used in few years. The opinion that his father only changed sides because he knew Voldemort was losing wasn't a new one, but it still aggravated him every time he heard it, even after five years. He knew some people didn't like the fact that the older Malfoy had been sentenced with ten years in Azkaban rather than with life, but Draco knew the truth. Yes, Lucius had agreed with some of Voldemort's ideologies back in the first war, but he had joined the Death Eaters for the second time to keep his family safe. If he hadn't have joined, all three of them would have been killed.

After a few minutes of throwing spells around, he felt a tap at his shoulder.

"I know, I know," he began angrily, "but I'm having a really shit day."

"I was only going to say that Marcus has asked me to be your partner."

Draco whipped around to face Hermione, whose eyebrows were raised. "Fine. But I'm warning you, I'm not about to go easy on you just because you're a girl."

Hermione's eyebrows shot higher up her forehead. "Excuse me?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm just telling you now."

"You're incorrigible!" Hermione hissed, turning to walk a few metres away from him. "_Stubefy_!"

Draco blocked the Falspell with a lazy flick of his wand. "Is that the best you can do? _Imbedimenta._"

Almost violently, Hermione blocked the spell. "_Expelliarnus_!"

"You'll have to better than that, Granger," Draco teased menacingly. "_Confunto_!"

"I think you _must _be going easy on me, Malfoy," Hermione said sarcastically. "Your Falspells aren't hitting me at all! Or maybe you're just cra –"

"I'm not _crap_, Granger, you –"

"_Stubefy_!" Hermione interrupted. The spell took Draco by surprise, spinning him around twice before knocking him to the ground. Hermione smiled in satisfaction.

"Ow," Draco groaned. "I think I bruised a rib."

"Bruised your ego, more like it," Hermione giggled, strolling over to lend Draco a hand.

"Thanks," Draco said gratefully, using Hermione's weight to lift himself up. "I let you have that one. Didn't want you crying in front of your friends."

"They could be your friends too, you know," Hermione told him quietly. "If you made an effort. They don't have anything against you anymore, now that they know you a bit better –"

"No one knows me, Granger," Draco growled. "Least of all you. Don't pretend like you do."

"I'm not," Hermione sighed. "It would just be easier if we all got along."

"I'm civil, isn't that enough?" Draco asked shortly.

Hermione looked at him with a mixture of thoughtfulness and defeat. "Why don't you want to integrate more? You hide away from everyone, not letting anyone get near enough to suss you out. You can't tell me it's because we're _Gryffindors_. That rivalry stopped when the war began."

"No, Granger, it's not house rivalry," Draco said tiredly. "Do you really think people believe I've changed? I don't have to prove myself to anyone. Merlin knows I've tried that already."

"You've tried to prove that you're a changed man?" Hermione asked. "To who?"

"I do have friends, Granger," Draco spat. "I'm not a loser. I lost a few friends in sixth year. I tried to get back in contact with them after the war, but they didn't want to know me. Now I just don't bother."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Hermione said softly, her eyes widening. "I don't think you should give up just yet. It's been a few years since the war now, maybe you could try again."

"I don't need them," Draco dismissed the idea immediately. "I have friends. Blaise Zabini, Kevin Whitby, Malcolm Baddock, Emma…"

Hermione let out a low laugh. "Three out of four of them are work colleagues. I know we're all your colleagues too," Hermione said, gesturing around the room, "but… you could make a bit of an effort.

"I'll think about it," Draco said for the second time that day. Half of him wanted to go and try to make peace with the team, but the other half of him was already making excuses. Y_ou don't want to talk to a bunch of Gryffindors, _his brain was telling him. _They're all losers. _

But maybe he was tired of being the one that everyone distrusted; that everyone disliked.

"All right! " Marcus's booming voice shook Draco from his thoughts. "I think you're all pretty much done."

"Pub?" Seamus asked hopefully, making Jacob and Dean laugh.

"Well, café," Marcus corrected, rolling his eyes jokingly. "If we're quick, we can get the breakfast deal."

"I'm going to get a sausage sandwich," Dean said, smiling and absent-mindedly rubbing his belly.

"Bacon for me, I think!"

"I wonder if they do muffins…"

"Is it okay if I come?"

The four Aurors and Hermione stopped chattering and turned to face Draco. No one spoke for a few moments, but Hermione smiled politely.

"Of course you can."

A few short minutes later and the group were in Pumpkins, having picked up Harry along the way. Jacob offered to collect the drinks and soon they were all seated around a circular table, nursing their cups of coffee, tea and pumpkin juice and reading the menus.

"I think brunch is the best meal of the day," Seamus said happily.

"You have brunch every day?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well, I at least have a snack," Seamus replied testily.

Draco snorted and took a sip of his coffee. "I hardly eat at all."

"I can tell by how skinny you are," Hermione commented. She blushed when everyone looked at her.

"You are quite scrawny," Harry agreed. "Probably as skinny as I was before Hogwarts fattened me up a bit."

"The Muggle's starved you, Harry," Seamus told him. "And you still haven't got any meat on your bones."

"I've got plenty of meat," Harry said, pretending to be offended. Seamus and Dean sniggered.

"What happened to the Muggles you lived with?" Draco asked.

"I sent them away when the war started for their safety," Harry explained slowly, looking at Draco inquisitively. "They liked their new house so much that they stayed. I visit them when I feel the urge and I went to Dudley's wedding last year. He's turned out all right, considering what he was like."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"So what's everyone having?" Marcus asked, setting down his menu.

"Blueberry muffin," Hermione and Draco said at the same time.

Harry looked between the two. "Well, that's the first thing you've ever agreed on!"

Draco scowled. "I'll have the chocolate chip muffin instead."

"Fine, suit yourself," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "If you can't even order the same food as me, I don't know how we're going to live together once this thing begins."

"Oi, kids," Dean scolded. "No bickering."

Hermione glared at Dean, who winked at her. "I'm going to order, so if you want me to order for you, you'll have to tell me what you want now."

"She may be almost twenty-four, but she's still the same as she was at Hogwarts," Harry joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes but jotted down everyone's order.

When she was back, she clasped her hand to her mouth. "Oh my gosh!"

"What is it?" Harry asked in concern. "Did you forget to order something?"

"No, no, I wrote everything down," Hermione dismissed. "No, I haven't packed yet!"

"Packed?" Seamus asked, scrunching his nose up in confusion.

"Yes! Well, if I'm going to be in the safe house, I need to be prepared!" Hermione exclaimed. "You should be packing too, Seamus. And you, Malfoy."

"Yeah, I'll get it done tonight," Seamus groaned. "I was speaking to Arthur this morning – I bumped into him on the way to the Auror office – and I'll have to do the night shifts. My day will be really screwed up – I'll have to sleep during the day!"

"Which means I'll be doing the day shifts," Hermione finished. "Don't worry; we can alternate weeks if you want."

"Nah, they'll just mess up my sleep even more," Seamus sighed.

Hermione grinned. "Fine. A normal sleep pattern for me, then!"

The waitress came over at that point, levitating seven plates above her head. "Bacon sandwich?"

"Me!" Seamus said happily, rubbing his hands together.

One by one, everyone's meal levitated over to them and the appropriate cutlery found its way to beside the plate.

"And finally, a second blueberry muffin," the waitress said, smiling flirtingly at Draco and placing his plate in front of him herself.

"Yes, that'll be all, thanks," Draco muttered. The waitress winked and wiggled off.

Dean smirked. "She didn't do that for anyone else. Someone has an admirer."

"Shut it, Thomas."

"I thought you were having a chocolate chip muffin?" Marcus asked.

"Oh, he was just being an idiot," Hermione answered. "I knew blueberry muffins were his favourite really."

Draco's lip curled - not in his trademark sneer, but in a small smile. He loved blueberry muffins. They _were_ his favourite, but he wasn't going to admit that to Hermione.


	24. chapter twenty-four

After a cosy, relaxing night in with Ron, Hermione woke to find a tray at her feet. She sat up slowly with a smile on her face and reached forward to bring it onto her lap. The tray consisted of a glass of fresh orange juice, a bowl of cornflakes and a chocolate muffin; not quite her preferred blueberry, but the thought was there. When she picked up the glass to take a sip of juice, she noticed a small piece of folded parchment that had an orange ring on half of it.

_Hermione – _

_I know it's your birthday tomorrow, but I have to get to work early tomorrow morning so I won't be able to make you a birthday breakfast… so I thought I'd make you one today. _

_Lots of love,_

_Ron_

Hermione folded the note again and placed it carefully on her bedside table, ready to place in the 'memory box' she'd had since she was a child. In it she had placed special notes, clippings and objects that meant something to her. The box had been subject to many undetectable extension charms over the years, which had become her expertise.

Hermione ate her pre-birthday breakfast lazily, picking at the muffin after slurping the milk from the cereal bowl. She didn't need to meet her mother until eleven o'clock, which meant she had two hours before she had to Apparate. She wasn't exactly looking forward to her shopping trip. Even though she loved her mother very much, she was just so… Muggle. Jean's slightly old-fashioned lifestyle meant that Hermione's preferred style of casual and comfortable wouldn't be acceptable for her barbeque and Hermione was even worrying about what to wear to the shopping centre. Jean meant well, but she sometimes picked at Hermione's dress sense and life choices to the point that Hermione couldn't stand it, meaning the entire day would be ruined. Obviously, Hermione wouldn't say anything to her mother, but sometimes she wished she could have magical parents who understood her.

At ten o'clock, after Hermione had got dressed and ready, her mobile rang.

"Hello, mum."

"Hermione, darling," Jean answered quickly, "are we still going shopping today?"

"Yes, I think so," Hermione told her slowly. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I was just checking!" Jean said innocently. "Are you meeting me at our house?"

Hermione nodded before realising she was on the phone rather than making a Floo call. "Yes, I'll Apparate into the back garden if that's okay."

"I _do _wish you wouldn't just appear like that," Jean moaned. "If the house behind ours looked out of the window at the right time –"

"Then they would just dismiss it as a trick of the light," Hermione finished. "Or I could have been hiding behind a tree and just walked into view or something."

"Don't joke, Hermione," Jean scolded. "I'll see you at eleven."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"Goodbye, darling."

"Bye." Hermione hung up and groaned, replacing her phone on the kitchen counter. Jean sounded like she was nervous, but Hermione couldn't put her finger on what was wrong.

She dismissed it. It was probably nothing.

Hermione spent the next fifty minutes sorting out her books into alphabetical order and tidying the living room so she wouldn't have to worry about it before her guests arrived the next day. At ten fifty-five, she grabbed her handbag and coat, set the wards up around the house and Apparated to her parent's back garden. Jean was waiting at the back door, peering around the lace curtains and nervously glancing at the houses surrounding them as if the neighbours would be looking out of their windows, peering at them. Jean unlocked the door with a final anxious glance and held it open for her daughter as Hermione manoeuvred around the garden ornaments.

"Hi, mum!" Hermione greeted as she walked through the door. She wiped her feet on the doormat and was taken by surprise with a hug from Jean.

"Hermione!" Jean said warmly, still with her arms wrapped around her.

"You saw me just over a week ago, mum!" Hermione squeaked, having had all the air squeezed out of her. "What's this about?"

"Oh, I'm just excited for your birthday," Jean mumbled before holding her at arm's length. "You could have put some makeup on, darling."

Hermione sighed. Back to normality. "We're only going shopping, why do I need to wear makeup?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Jean said, as if she felt sorry for her. "You should _always_ wear makeup if you're going out."

"You never used to," Hermione pointed out. When _had_ Jean started wearing makeup and dressing so nicely? The mother she knew wore dowdy cardigans with jeans and was always making cakes. Hermione thought back, her smile drooping as she realised when Jean had become the person she knew now. When Hermione had found Monica and Wendall Wilkins in Australia as two Muggles who had no idea who Hermione was, their personalities had changed, but Hermione hadn't realised they would keep their alter egos when she reversed the memory charm.

It was her fault. But she had had no choice.

"Oh, I'm sure I did," Jean said breezily, letting go of Hermione and putting on a light jacket. "Anyway, are you ready to go?"

"Let me just say hello to Dad," Hermione replied, walking past her mother and going into the living room. Richard was watching a rugby match on the television. "Hello, Dad."

"Hello 'Mione!" Richard called without turning around. "Make sure your mum doesn't spend too much."

"I won't," Hermione said. "I promise."

Hermione smiled sadly as her father shouted something at the television. At least Richard's love of rugby hadn't changed, even if he had suddenly developed loyal support for the Australian teams.

"Come on, sweetheart, the taxi is outside," Jean said, brushing past Hermione to collect her handbag from the armchair.

"Why don't we –" Hermione started.

"No," Jean interrupted sharply. "I want to get to the shopping centre _normally_."

Hermione knew it was useless trying to argue with her mother, who was as stubborn as she was, if not more so. After a particularly unfortunate incident involving Apparating to Diagon Alley and landing on a delivery of pumpkins, her parents refused to travel magically, whether it was by Floo or Apparition.

As the two women got into the taxi, Jean looked Hermione up and down. "Have you gained weight, dear?"

"No, mum. I've stayed the same weight since school," Hermione sighed. Her weight wasn't important to her, most likely because she never seemed to gain any, but to her mother it was the secret to happiness.

"You don't want to eat badly now, you know," Jean said wisely. "You'll only end up putting on the pounds in your thirties."

"Thank you for the advice," Hermione muttered sarcastically.

The majority of the twenty minute journey was spent in stony silence, with the occasional comment about Jean's social encounters with the ladies at the golf club. When they finally arrived at the newly-built shopping mall, Hermione felt a sense of trepidation as she let Jean pay the taxi-driver. There were easily a hundred shops in the building, most of which Jean would drag her into to try on copious amounts of hideous and expensive clothing.

Once inside the building, Hermione was surprised that Jean headed directly to a shop on the ground floor of the mall, rather than sauntering into every outlet in a predetermined order. The smallish store was called 'Pushka' and seemed to be full to the brim with quirky vintage-style dresses and eveningwear, alongside several home items of the same style. Hermione immediately fell in love with it. Although most of her wardrobe consisted of jeans and plain tops, she had a secret love for vintage clothing. Maybe it was because of its practicality – modern clothing didn't quite have the same strength, even if it had been charmed to be ever-lasting.

"I was in here the other day and found the most perfect dress for you, Hermione," Jean told her. "I know you'll just _love _it."

Hermione grimaced as she imagined the concoction her mother had found for her. Jean's recent taste in clothing wasn't to Hermione's liking and she was forever trying to dress Hermione in pink lace and florals.

Hermione waited by a mannequin covered with necklaces and boas as Jean talked to the shop assistant, who went into the back room to fetch the reserved dress. After what seemed to be an eternity, she returned.

Having prepared a 'sorry, but it's just not really _me_' speech, Hermione was ready to start her objections, when she stopped. The dress in front of her was beautiful. It was a chiffon floor-length gown in the palest pink Hermione had ever seen. Around the waist was a silver band that matched the straps. The sweetheart neckline was modest yet alluring and the fitted bodice would flatter Hermione's shape perfectly.

"Oh," Hermione said.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the shop assistant said. "It's very popular, but your mum reserved the last one."

"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed, wanting to touch it. "I love it."

Jean smiled triumphantly. "Then we'll take it!"

Hermione stopped gazing at the dress. "Wait, how much is it?"

"It's two hundred and forty pounds," the shop assistant told her, glancing between the pair, "but forty pounds has already been paid as a deposit."

"I can't afford that," Hermione said quickly, looking at Jean in guilt. "I –"

"Don't bother offering to pay me back," Jean interrupted. "This is my gift to you, for your birthday."

Hermione smiled. "This is perfect, mum. Thank you. Are you sure it's not too expensive?"

"It's fine. It's my pleasure."

"Would you like to try it on before you buy it?" the shop assistant asked timidly, nervous about breaking up the moment.

"No, thank you, it's fine," Hermione told her politely. She had practiced dressmaking spells not that long ago. "I'm good at adjusting clothing."

"Okay, then!" the assistant said happily. "If you'd like to come over to the desk, I'll just wrap this for you."

As Hermione watched the dress being wrapped in champagne-coloured tissue paper and being tied with a bow, she wondered if she would look too dressed-up for the barbeque. It was only in her back garden, after all.

"You're worrying if you're going to look overdressed, aren't you?" Jean asked intuitively.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "But it's my birthday. When else am I going to wear such a pretty dress?"

Jean blushed. "Oh, I don't know… something might pop up."

There was definitely something Jean was hiding, but Hermione didn't care what at that point. She had a beautiful dress to wear the next day on her birthday and she was going to enjoy her twenty-fourth without worrying what her mother was nervous about.

After Jean had paid, the pair wandered over to the café that had seating in the centre of the mall, which was the perfect place for people-spotting. Hermione sat by a tall potted plant as her mother went to buy two cappuccinos and gazed contentedly at the Muggles who walked past. As it was a Friday, it wasn't very busy, but Hermione found it fascinating watching the groups of retired friends walking and laughing together like they were teenagers and the young couples out with their babies in pushchairs, yawning as they pored over their shopping lists.

"We should get you some jewellery," Jean announced as she arrived at the table with a tray. Hermione reached for her cappuccino gratefully and took a sip. "Some nice silver earrings to go with your dress and maybe a bracelet or necklace."

"I have some silver jewellery at home," Hermione said after swallowing her mouthful of coffee.

"Nonsense. Not _nice _jewellery. We'll go into Pia after our coffees and have a look," Jean told her. "You need some shoes as well."

Hermione knew better than to argue with her mother once she had her mind set on something, so she just took another sip of coffee and listened to her mum talking about her upcoming holiday to France.

An hour later, Hermione and Jean exited the shopping centre, having bought some shoes and small diamond earrings with a matching necklace and bracelet for Hermione. The shoes were silver too; strappy with a small heel. She had never been very good at walking in heels, but her new ones were remarkably comfortable and not too high.

As they were waiting for the taxi to collect them, Hermione squeezed her mother's arm affectionately. "Thanks for this morning, mum."

"That's quite all right, darling," Jean responded, squeezing back. "I just want you to look perfect on your big day."

"It's not a big day, really," Hermione said. "It's only my twenty-fourth."

Jean said nothing, smiling knowingly.

That night, when Hermione and Ron were sitting in bed, Hermione considered telling him about her thoughts on her mother's anxious disposition but thought better of it. Ron didn't need to know, nor would he care.

Sometimes, she wished he didcare. Granted, he did ask her about her day from time to time, but he never really _cared_ about it, unless it directly involved him or Harry. A sudden feeling of dread filled Hermione's stomach as she considered the next few decades of her life, each night spent in bed with Ron, each day spent exactly the same way.

Did she want that life?

She certainly loved Ron… but was she _in _love with him anymore? It was true that they had been stuck in a rut for the past few months – surprise houses aside – but surely that was just normal couple progression?

She didn't want to admit it, but she knew what the answer was.

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**AN: hey guys! thanks for reading. now, please review! you'll all get cookies if you do. i bet you can guess what jean is hiding... don't spoil it for the people who don't know by writing it in the reviews, however. as always, thanks to my beta who is now on twitter: amberkayfanfic. next chapter won't be too far away, but chapter 26 might be about a month as both me and my beta have exams.**

** hope you're all well! thank you for your support, i love you all millions.**

**P.S. I have a new youtube vlog channel, so if you want to watch my videos, please subscribe to 'holsontalks'! thank you xxxxx**


	25. chapter twenty-five

Draco woke to the sound of tapping on his window. In his heavily hungover state, he dragged himself out of bed and opened the window, letting his owl in, with three envelopes gripped in its claws. Trudging into his en-suite bathroom, Draco realised that he was still fully clothed - albeit without a tie - and he had a huge blue stain on his once-white shirt.

Once he had finished showering and was dressed in fresh clothing, Draco made sure that the coin that Kingsley had given him was in his breast pocket. Both Kingsley and Harry thought that the escape would have happened on Friday but the day went by escape-free, meaning he was anticipating the heat of the coin to alert him at any moment.

A loud clattering from the other room drew his attention away from the fake galleon. Gripping his wand a little tighter, he silently walked towards his door and peered through the opening. From what he could see, there was someone in his kitchen, searching through the drawers. Swallowing nervously, Draco blinked a few times to clear his eyes and burst out of his room, pointing his wand at the intruder.

"If you so much as move one inch, I swear I will _Avada_ you," Draco snarled.

The trespasser froze. Draco was surprised to see it was a woman – a mildly attractive one at that – but he didn't lower his wand.

"Who are you?" Draco asked, taking a step closer.

"You know who I am," the woman said uneasily. "We met last night at the pub."

"What the fuck are you doing in my flat?" Draco demanded, trying to place her in his hazy memories of the previous night. He couldn't seem to remember her, but he _had_ got utterly hammered with Blaise.

The woman stood up straight and looked at him. "Well… you invited me here. You passed out before we did anything, though."

"That doesn't answer my question," Draco growled. "Why are you still here? And what are you doing in my kitchen?"

"I crashed on the sofa. I woke up a few minutes ago and decided to make some breakfast… I'm trying to find the egg-timer."

"You're trying to find the egg-timer?" Draco repeated, lowering his wand a fraction.

"Yeah. I dropped a pan… did I wake you?" the woman asked apologetically.

"No," Draco replied, still suspicious. "What's your name?"

"Bethany!" she answered, looking hurt. "I thought you might have remembered. Obviously not."

"Obviously not," Draco muttered. He lowered his wand completely. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Bethany sighed and frowned slightly. "Fine." She grabbed her bag from the chair and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door as she left. Draco listened to the crack of Apparition and shook his head in disbelief. It had been a while since he'd had to get a girl to leave in the morning.

Draco sighed and stared grudgingly at the messy kitchen. He didn't even own an egg-timer.

An hour later, the flat was tidied and Draco was lazily picking apart a stale blueberry muffin that had been in his cupboard for a few days. His mother would have been able to teach him a spell that either preserved food or made it fresh again, but she was in Paris and therefore unavailable to give him such information. He didn't know why he was so angry at her. He was the one that had suggested it in the first place. He supposed that it was because she didn't notify him first. Even though he was twenty-three, Draco still liked to know if his mother was going out of the country or not.

As he finished off the muffin, leaving the crumbs on the table for his owl, Draco heard a knock at the door. Cautiously, he picked up his wand and walked over to the door. No one _knocked_. No one magical, anyway. As he opened the door and peered through the gap, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Emma! What are you doing here?" Draco asked in surprise.

"I tried to Floo, but your wards must be up or something because I couldn't and –"

"Yeah, I forgot to take them down this morning," Draco cut in, gesturing for Emma to enter. "Not feeling my best."

"Busy night?" Emma asked timidly, walking into the flat and towards the living room.

"I can't remember, honestly," Draco admitted, following her. "It's a bit of a blur."

There was an awkward silence.

"What is it you're here for?" Draco asked again.

"Oh! Sorry," Emma apologised, fishing around in her bag. "I've finished the phones. We all worked really hard on them; stayed up all night."

"Great!" Draco exclaimed. "Can I see?"

"Yes, hang on." Emma tipped the contents of her handbag onto a sofa. "Here we are."

She hastily handed Draco three small rectangular objects. They looked like ordinary Muggle phones – plastic and black with a large screen – but without any buttons.

"How does it work?" Draco asked in wonder, turning one of the phones over in his hands. They were lighter than they looked and Draco could feel the magic radiating from them.

"They're quite clever, actually," Emma said proudly. "To activate them you just say a password – they're all set to your name at the moment – and you can do allsorts with it."

"Draco Malfoy," Draco said clearly. All three phones lit up: the screen turned white and a menu appeared. MTM's logo was at the bottom.

"The first button changes your password. The second one allows you to write a message to either of the other phones – or both – the third button lets you make a phone call between the phones and the fourth button is a Floo call function. You can hold the phone in front of your face and you can Floo anyone with a fireplace!You can also turn the sound off and on with the music symbol in the corner or lock it with the padlock on the other side."

"Wow," Draco said, in total shock. "These are better than I imagined. They're brilliant!"

Emma blushed. "Malcolm and Kevin did most of the charming. I just came up with the functions and design."

"They're brilliant," Draco repeated. "How do I use them?"

"It's simple," Emma told him. "You can control it with your voice or just tap whatever option you want."

"Well, thank you, Emma. These are great. I'll try them out right away," Draco said, offering a rare smile in Emma's direction. "How do I turn them off again?"

"Tap the padlock symbol at the bottom," Emma said, grinning out of pride at her work. "Or you can just say 'lock."

"Lock," Draco said loudly. The three phones' screens went black immediately. He couldn't wait to test them out.

"Kevin gave them wards, too," Emma informed him. "No one can listen to your phone calls through a third-party device or eavesdropping spell, they cannot be detected with anti-bugging devices or spells, they're equipped with water-repellent charms and they're indestructible against all attacking spells and jinxes."

"Clever Whitby."

"Of course, once you're back, we can manufacture these properly," Emma carried on professionally. "We'll need to promote them and perhaps even use MTM as a network. I looked at Kevin's research… the Muggle companies make a lot of money through this credit thing. Customers pay a certain amount of money a month to use their phones."

"There's potentially a lot of money to be made," Draco agreed. "It's just trying to market them."

"We could even look into putting more spells on them," Emma continued excitedly. "For example, people could be sent the newest _Daily Prophet _straight to their phones!"

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Draco warned gently.

"You're right," Emma said apologetically, "we'll have to wait until you get back from wherever you're going." Emma looked at Draco hopefully, silently hinting that she would very much like to know what exactly he was doing with the Aurors.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know I can't tell you."

"I know."

There was another awkward pause.

"So, what have you got planned for the weekend?" Emma asked casually.

Draco thought for a moment. "Nothing, I don't think. Why?"

"I just thought that –"

"Hang on! I do have plans… I'm invited to a birthday this evening," Draco recalled, remembering Hermione's invitation. He wasn't planning on going. Why would he want to be surrounded by a crowd of Draco-hating losers?

"Oh, okay," Emma said quickly. "What about tomorrow?"

"I don't think I'm doing anything," Draco said slowly, trying to force his still-hungover brain to work faster.

"Good! I mean, I was hoping we could get some coffee together," Emma rushed, blushing furiously.

"Okay," Draco said, nodding, "good idea. By having a meeting tomorrow, I can let you know if I have any problems with the phones which need to be amended before – before I leave."

"Yes," Emma said disappointedly. "A meeting."

"You can relay anything I say back to the other two," Draco told her, oblivious to Emma's reaction. "I'll meet you at Broomstix at twelve."

"Yes, of course, twelve," Emma mumbled. "Well, I best be getting home."

"Of course," Draco replied. "I'll take the wards off and you can Floo."

"Thanks," Emma said gratefully.

Draco placed the phones carefully on his coffee table and removed the wards. Emma was just throwing in the Floo powder when Draco frowned. "Hang on, how did you find my flat?"

Emma blushed again. "Um, I looked in your office and found your address on an invoice…"

"Say no more," Draco said awkwardly. "It's fine. I'll see you later."

"Bye!"

Draco watched as Emma ran his fingers through his hair, placed his left hand on his hip and stared at the three phones, which were face down on the coffee table. They were truly magnificent; his company's best invention yet… and he wasn't the one who had created them. Yes, he had come up with the original idea, but he hadn't been around for the making of the product, which was his favourite part of the process.

Sighing again, he picked the phone with 'ONE' engraved on its back. After he said his name, the phone lit up immediately, showing the menu. "Change password," Draco said nervously. He was sure he looked like an idiot, talking to a plastic rectangle.

The screen changed to show a keypad that looked like a smaller version of a Muggle computer keyboard with thephrase 'New password' above it. Draco typed in his password carefully and then said his name again when the phone instructed him to. Pleased with himself, he did the same with the other two phones, altering the password slightly on each one. He then went back to the first phone and decided to try out the other functions.

"Message," he said slowly. The phone showed another menu which asked him to choose who to send the message to. "Two."

Again, a keypad popped up along with a space for the message to be written and a button to send it. Draco decided to use his voice to write the message instead of having to fiddle around with the small keys. "Hello. This is a test."

The words appeared on the screen and Draco happily pressed the 'Send' button. Almost immediately, phone number two beeped once and lit up with the words 'New Message'. Draco picked it up, said his password and read the message he had just sent. So, the message function worked, but what about the phone call function? Picking up phone number three, he said the password and selecting the 'Call' button, choosing phone number one to test it on. After a moment, phone one beeped twice and flashed up with 'Incoming Call' Draco pressed the answer button. "Hello?"

Draco's own voice echoed back at him in the other phone. Grinning, he hung up both phones and picked up phone two again. The last button was the Floo call function and it was the one he was most intrigued about. Somehow, the phones could be linked up to the Floo network and were able to show his face in the flames of the recipient's fire, which he was completely baffled at. He had underestimated his team's abilities.

He pressed the button and was met with another keypad for inputting the address or name of the person he wished to contact. Wanting to try the voice recognition again, Draco cleared his throat and lifted the phone up so it was in front of his face. "Draco Malfoy."

Immediately, his fireplace roared into life, showcasing Draco's head in the flames.

"Hello. This is a test," Draco said again. The Draco in the fire spoke at the same time. It was a little unnerving so Draco ended the call and locked each phone again. He couldn't wait to show everyone what Emma and the others had created, but knew that no one other than Hermione would really understand the significance or the beauty of the three ordinary-looking objects in front of him.

His mind drifted back to the prospect of the party that evening. Even if the occasion and company were dire, at least he could show them the phones and briefly explain their use. He wouldn't stay for long, or make an effort at all and he certainly wouldn't bring Hermione a gift.

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**A/N: I thought I'd post this chapter now, before my English exam as I'll be distracted and probably forget to upload it. Had no reviews for the last chapter... not complaining or anything but the feedback really helps me and makes me want to write more/faster for you guys. Chapter 26 will probably be ready in about a month (end of June/beginning of July) and it's when THINGS START HAPPENING. You have been warned. Thanks to my beta, who you can follow on twitter - amberkayfanfic. Please read/review!**

**xoxoxox**


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